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What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Second Secretary Magnan will be away from the Manpower Utilization Directorate, Division of Libraries and Education (MUDDLE) for two weeks, leaving Retief in charge. Magnan reminds Retief that his role is to act as a rubber stamp, continuing Magnan’s actions. Magnan points out that Retief should appreciate that Bogan is participating in the Exchange Program. Its participation might be a step toward sublimating their aggression into more cultivated channels. The Bogans are sending two thousand students to d’Land as exchange students, and Magnan thinks this might end their aggression and bring them into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Retief wonders aloud what the students will study in such a poor, industrial land. Magnan points out that this is none of Retief’s concern and that his role is simply to facilitate bringing the two groups together. When Miss Furkle, the secretary, buzzes Magnan that the bucolic person from Lovenbroy is there again, Magnan pushes the meeting off onto Retief.The person from Lovenbroy is named Hank Arapoulous. He is a farmer and tells Retief that the Bacchus vines that they use to make their wine mature every twelve years and that this year is a harvest year, but they are short on workers to harvest the grapes. They have a shortage of workers for the harvest due to their conflict over strip mining and the loss of several of their young men in the battles to prevent it. Also, Lovenbroy had to borrow money from Croanie, and the loan was due. The wine crop will put them in the clear if they can harvest it. The biggest concern is what Croanie will do with the land if they can’t pay the loan; Lovenbroy has offered half its grape acreage as security for the loan it received. Hank asks Retief for a loan, but Retief tells him that MEDDLE’s role is only for transportation. Hank says he also checked with the Labor Office, but it only offered to set them up with machinery. Retief attends a council meeting and learns that Croanie will receive a shipment of strip mining equipment. A spokesman for the Special Committee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations’ General Economies (SCROUNGE) indicates he has been trying to get mining equipment for d’Land. He tells Retief that Boge is a troublemaker, so all the agencies in the Corps are trying to appease her. Upon further discussion, Retief learns that d’Land doesn’t have a university for the exchange students to attend, just a technical college that would be overwhelmed to receive 200, much less 2,000, students. Retief also learns that all the exchange students are males, and their “luggage” is full of weapons. He diverts their luggage and sends the exchange students to Lovenbroy, where they help harvest the grapes. Retief is also sent to Lovenbroy for exceeding his authority. Hank tells Retief that he has won the prize for the picking competition. The prize is a girl named Delinda.

Who are the Bogans, and what happens to their plan? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who are the Bogans, and what happens to their plan?

The Bogans are people who have a history of aggression within the Nicodemean Cluster. In the last twenty years, they have launched four military campaigns against other Galaxy members; because of this, they are known as the Hoodlums of the Nicodemean Cluster. They have agreed to send 2,000 of their students to participate in the Exchange Program in d’Land that the Manpower Utilization Directorate, Division of Libraries and Education is facilitating. This agreement is a curiosity to Retief because d’Land is a poor, industrial society, so he wonders what the Bogans will study there. His superior, Second Secretary Magnan, tells him that is none of his business and to be sure not to antagonize the Bogan representative. According to the Special Committee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Underdeveloped Nations’ General Economies (SCROUNGE) committeeman, every agency in the Corps is trying to appease Boge since Boge is a well-known troublemaker. He also informs Retief that d’Land has no universities, just an under-endowed technical college that could not handle 200, much less 2,000, exchange students. He also tells Retief that most of d’Land’s problems result from an unwise trade agreement that it made with Boge. Retief meets Karsh, a Scoutmaster who trained the Bogan students; he made it like a game but says they know how to handle a CSU. As the Bogan students come through Customs and see Mr. Karsh, they snap to attention. Mr. Karsh refuses to let the students leave the airport. Retief notices that all the exchange students are males, and Karsh tells him they wanted to see how the first group of students was received before sending any females. Retief realizes that Bogan students are headed to a place that has no classrooms for the students. In the meantime, the tractors are being sent to Croanie, a world under obligation to Boge, and Croanie holds the mortgage to the best vineyards in Lovenbroy. Retief looks up the tractors that are being sent to Croanie and discovers they are armored vehicles with a half-megaton per second firepower. Retief learns that these continental siege units are ultimately being sent to Lovenbroy, which is rich in minerals, on behalf of Boge. Retief also learns that Boge has an application to send another 2,000 students to Croanie and is considering sending 2,000 more to Featherweight. Retief learns that Boge tried to take over Lovenbroy several years earlier and would have succeeded if not for bad luck. Retief calls a friend who works in transport and learns that the Bogan students’ luggage is all being sent to Lovenbroy, and when he looked in the luggage, it was all weapons. Retief diverts the luggage and sends the students on to Lovenbroy to help with the grape harvest for the vineyards. He impounds the luggage full of weapons.

Who is Hank Arapoulous, and what does he do in the story? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Hank Arapoulous, and what does he do in the story?

Hank Arapoulousis is first described as a “bucolic person from Lovenbroy.” He is a farmer, tall with bronze skin and gray hair, who comes to MUDDLE’s office to discuss the harvest problems in Lovenbroy. They grow Bacchus vines, which only mature once every twelve years. This year is a harvest year, but they don’t have enough people to harvest the grapes. Arapoulousis explains to Retief that a few years ago, Boge landed a force on Lovenbroy to try to mine their minerals by strip-mining. Lovenbroy fought back for a year but lost a lot of its men. This created financial problems, so Lovenbroy borrowed money from Croanie, mortgaging its crops. The loan is due, and the wine crop will cover the loan amount, but they don’t have enough people to harvest the grapes. He is worried that if they don’t have a great harvest, Croanie will come in and start mining. Also, if they default on the loan, Croanie will hold half of the grape acreage that they used to secure the loan. Arapoulousis has also asked for help from the Labor Office, but they only offered to send them machinery, and machines cannot harvest the grapes. He returns to see Retief the following day to find out if Retief has discovered a way to help. When Mr. Karsh makes a scene about the missing luggage for the exchange students, Retief has Arapoulousis take Karsh away and “take care of him.” When they return, Karsh is stumbling and needs support to stand up. Arapoulousis explains that Karsh fell. Retief sends the exchange students to Lovenbroy with Arapoulousis to help with the harvest. As the harvest is winding down, Arapoulousis tells Retief that Retief has won the award for the picking competition. Arapoulousis is also the person who judges the wine contest.

What is Lovenbroy, and why is it important? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Lovenbroy, and why is it important?

Lovenbroy is one of the members of the Nicodemean Cluster and part of the cultural life of the Galaxy. Lovenbroy is known for its exquisite wines produced from the Bacchus vines, which only mature once every twelve years. Lovenbroy is important for the Galaxy culture because, during the time when it is not raising and harvesting grapes and other crops, it makes important cultural contributions. They have created parks and farms and left sizable forests for hunting. They offer skiing, bob-sledding, and ice skating in the spring while it is still cold. They also create fine furniture, sculpture, and art. During the summer, they offer beach parties, drama, and symphonies. The land is full of minerals, which led Boge to land a force to strip-mine some of the resources. Lovenbroy fought back, but it took a year, and it lost many men. This has left Lovenbroy short-handed for this year’s grape harvest. It also took a financial toll on Lovenbroy, and it had to borrow money from Croanie, mortgage its crops, and export its artwork. The loan is due during the harvest year, and without enough men to pick the grapes, Croanie will come in and take over half the vineyard land and mine it. Croanie is under obligation to Boge, and Boge is behind the scheme of sending “exchange students” supposedly to d’Land but really to Lovenbroy to take its minerals.

What is Croanie, and why is it important in the story? [SEP] <s> CULTURAL EXCHANGE BY KEITH LAUMER It was a simple student exchange—but Retief gave them more of an education than they expected! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I Second Secretary Magnan took his green-lined cape and orange-featheredberet from the clothes tree. I'm off now, Retief, he said. I hopeyou'll manage the administrative routine during my absence without anyunfortunate incidents. That seems a modest enough hope, Retief said. I'll try to live up toit. I don't appreciate frivolity with reference to this Division, Magnansaid testily. When I first came here, the Manpower UtilizationDirectorate, Division of Libraries and Education was a shambles. Ifancy I've made MUDDLE what it is today. Frankly, I question thewisdom of placing you in charge of such a sensitive desk, even for twoweeks. But remember. Yours is purely a rubber-stamp function. In that case, let's leave it to Miss Furkle. I'll take a couple ofweeks off myself. With her poundage, she could bring plenty of pressureto bear. I assume you jest, Retief, Magnan said sadly. I should expect evenyou to appreciate that Bogan participation in the Exchange Program maybe the first step toward sublimation of their aggressions into morecultivated channels. I see they're sending two thousand students to d'Land, Retief said,glancing at the Memo for Record. That's a sizable sublimation. Magnan nodded. The Bogans have launched no less than four militarycampaigns in the last two decades. They're known as the Hoodlums ofthe Nicodemean Cluster. Now, perhaps, we shall see them breaking thatprecedent and entering into the cultural life of the Galaxy. Breaking and entering, Retief said. You may have something there.But I'm wondering what they'll study on d'Land. That's an industrialworld of the poor but honest variety. Academic details are the affair of the students and their professors,Magnan said. Our function is merely to bring them together. Seethat you don't antagonize the Bogan representative. This willbe an excellent opportunity for you to practice your diplomaticrestraint—not your strong point, I'm sure you'll agree. A buzzer sounded. Retief punched a button. What is it, Miss Furkle? That—bucolic person from Lovenbroy is here again. On the small deskscreen, Miss Furkle's meaty features were compressed in disapproval. This fellow's a confounded pest. I'll leave him to you, Retief,Magnan said. Tell him something. Get rid of him. And remember: hereat Corps HQ, all eyes are upon you. If I'd thought of that, I'd have worn my other suit, Retief said. Magnan snorted and passed from view. Retief punched Miss Furkle'sbutton. Send the bucolic person in. <doc-sep>A tall broad man with bronze skin and gray hair, wearing tight trousersof heavy cloth, a loose shirt open at the neck and a short jacket,stepped into the room. He had a bundle under his arm. He paused atsight of Retief, looked him over momentarily, then advanced and heldout his hand. Retief took it. For a moment the two big men stood, faceto face. The newcomer's jaw muscles knotted. Then he winced. Retief dropped his hand and motioned to a chair. That's nice knuckle work, mister, the stranger said, massaging hishand. First time anybody ever did that to me. My fault though. Istarted it, I guess. He grinned and sat down. What can I do for you? Retief said. You work for this Culture bunch, do you? Funny. I thought they wereall ribbon-counter boys. Never mind. I'm Hank Arapoulous. I'm a farmer.What I wanted to see you about was— He shifted in his chair. Well,out on Lovenbroy we've got a serious problem. The wine crop is justabout ready. We start picking in another two, three months. Now I don'tknow if you're familiar with the Bacchus vines we grow...? No, Retief said. Have a cigar? He pushed a box across the desk.Arapoulous took one. Bacchus vines are an unusual crop, he said,puffing the cigar alight. Only mature every twelve years. In between,the vines don't need a lot of attention, so our time's mostly our own.We like to farm, though. Spend a lot of time developing new forms.Apples the size of a melon—and sweet— Sounds very pleasant, Retief said. Where does the Libraries andEducation Division come in? Arapoulous leaned forward. We go in pretty heavy for the arts. Folkscan't spend all their time hybridizing plants. We've turned all theland area we've got into parks and farms. Course, we left some sizableforest areas for hunting and such. Lovenbroy's a nice place, Mr.Retief. It sounds like it, Mr. Arapoulous. Just what— Call me Hank. We've got long seasons back home. Five of 'em. Ouryear's about eighteen Terry months. Cold as hell in winter; eccentricorbit, you know. Blue-black sky, stars visible all day. We do mostlypainting and sculpture in the winter. Then Spring; still plenty cold.Lots of skiing, bob-sledding, ice skating; and it's the season forwoodworkers. Our furniture— I've seen some of your furniture, Retief said. Beautiful work. Arapoulous nodded. All local timbers too. Lots of metals in our soiland those sulphates give the woods some color, I'll tell you. Thencomes the Monsoon. Rain—it comes down in sheets. But the sun's gettingcloser. Shines all the time. Ever seen it pouring rain in the sunshine?That's the music-writing season. Then summer. Summer's hot. We stayinside in the daytime and have beach parties all night. Lots of beachon Lovenbroy; we're mostly islands. That's the drama and symphony time.The theatres are set up on the sand, or anchored off-shore. You havethe music and the surf and the bonfires and stars—we're close to thecenter of a globular cluster, you know.... You say it's time now for the wine crop? That's right. Autumn's our harvest season. Most years we have just theordinary crops. Fruit, grain, that kind of thing; getting it in doesn'ttake long. We spend most of the time on architecture, getting newplaces ready for the winter or remodeling the older ones. We spend alot of time in our houses. We like to have them comfortable. But thisyear's different. This is Wine Year. <doc-sep>Arapoulous puffed on his cigar, looked worriedly at Retief. Our winecrop is our big money crop, he said. We make enough to keep us going.But this year.... The crop isn't panning out? Oh, the crop's fine. One of the best I can remember. Course, I'm onlytwenty-eight; I can't remember but two other harvests. The problem'snot the crop. Have you lost your markets? That sounds like a matter for theCommercial— Lost our markets? Mister, nobody that ever tasted our wines eversettled for anything else! It sounds like I've been missing something, said Retief. I'll haveto try them some time. Arapoulous put his bundle on the desk, pulled off the wrappings. Notime like the present, he said. Retief looked at the two squat bottles, one green, one amber, bothdusty, with faded labels, and blackened corks secured by wire. Drinking on duty is frowned on in the Corps, Mr. Arapoulous, he said. This isn't drinking . It's just wine. Arapoulous pulled the wireretainer loose, thumbed the cork. It rose slowly, then popped in theair. Arapoulous caught it. Aromatic fumes wafted from the bottle.Besides, my feelings would be hurt if you didn't join me. He winked. Retief took two thin-walled glasses from a table beside the desk. Cometo think of it, we also have to be careful about violating quaintnative customs. Arapoulous filled the glasses. Retief picked one up, sniffed the deeprust-colored fluid, tasted it, then took a healthy swallow. He lookedat Arapoulous thoughtfully. Hmmm. It tastes like salted pecans, with an undercurrent of crustedport. Don't try to describe it, Mr. Retief, Arapoulous said. He took amouthful of wine, swished it around his teeth, swallowed. It's Bacchuswine, that's all. Nothing like it in the Galaxy. He pushed the secondbottle toward Retief. The custom back home is to alternate red wineand black. <doc-sep>Retief put aside his cigar, pulled the wires loose, nudged the cork,caught it as it popped up. Bad luck if you miss the cork, Arapoulous said, nodding. Youprobably never heard about the trouble we had on Lovenbroy a few yearsback? Can't say that I did, Hank. Retief poured the black wine into twofresh glasses. Here's to the harvest. We've got plenty of minerals on Lovenbroy, Arapoulous said,swallowing wine. But we don't plan to wreck the landscape mining 'em.We like to farm. About ten years back some neighbors of ours landed aforce. They figured they knew better what to do with our minerals thanwe did. Wanted to strip-mine, smelt ore. We convinced 'em otherwise.But it took a year, and we lost a lot of men. That's too bad, Retief said. I'd say this one tastes more like roastbeef and popcorn over a Riesling base. It put us in a bad spot, Arapoulous went on. We had to borrowmoney from a world called Croanie. Mortgaged our crops. Had to startexporting art work too. Plenty of buyers, but it's not the same whenyou're doing it for strangers. Say, this business of alternating drinks is the real McCoy, Retiefsaid. What's the problem? Croanie about to foreclose? Well, the loan's due. The wine crop would put us in the clear. Butwe need harvest hands. Picking Bacchus grapes isn't a job you canturn over to machinery—and anyway we wouldn't if we could. Vintageseason is the high point of living on Lovenbroy. Everybody joins in.First, there's the picking in the fields. Miles and miles of vineyardscovering the mountain sides, and crowding the river banks, with gardenshere and there. Big vines, eight feet high, loaded with fruit, and deepgrass growing between. The wine-carriers keep on the run, bringing wineto the pickers. There's prizes for the biggest day's output, bets onwho can fill the most baskets in an hour.... The sun's high and bright,and it's just cool enough to give you plenty of energy. Come nightfall,the tables are set up in the garden plots, and the feast is laid on:roast turkeys, beef, hams, all kinds of fowl. Big salads. Plenty offruit. Fresh-baked bread ... and wine, plenty of wine. The cooking'sdone by a different crew each night in each garden, and there's prizesfor the best crews. Then the wine-making. We still tramp out the vintage. That's mostlyfor the young folks but anybody's welcome. That's when things start toget loosened up. Matter of fact, pretty near half our young-uns areborn after a vintage. All bets are off then. It keeps a fellow on histoes though. Ever tried to hold onto a gal wearing nothing but a layerof grape juice? <doc-sep>Never did, Retief said. You say most of the children are born aftera vintage. That would make them only twelve years old by the time— Oh, that's Lovenbroy years; they'd be eighteen, Terry reckoning. I was thinking you looked a little mature for twenty-eight, Retiefsaid. Forty-two, Terry years, Arapoulous said. But this year it looks bad.We've got a bumper crop—and we're short-handed. If we don't get a bigvintage, Croanie steps in. Lord knows what they'll do to the land. Thennext vintage time, with them holding half our grape acreage— You hocked the vineyards? Yep. Pretty dumb, huh? But we figured twelve years was a long time. On the whole, Retief said, I think I prefer the black. But the redis hard to beat.... What we figured was, maybe you Culture boys could help us out. A loanto see us through the vintage, enough to hire extra hands. Then we'drepay it in sculpture, painting, furniture— Sorry, Hank. All we do here is work out itineraries for travelingside-shows, that kind of thing. Now, if you needed a troop of Groacinose-flute players— Can they pick grapes? Nope. Anyway, they can't stand the daylight. Have you talked this overwith the Labor Office? Sure did. They said they'd fix us up with all the electronicsspecialists and computer programmers we wanted—but no field hands.Said it was what they classified as menial drudgery; you'd have thoughtI was trying to buy slaves. The buzzer sounded. Miss Furkle's features appeared on the desk screen. You're due at the Intergroup Council in five minutes, she said. Thenafterwards, there are the Bogan students to meet. Thanks. Retief finished his glass, stood. I have to run, Hank, hesaid. Let me think this over. Maybe I can come up with something.Check with me day after tomorrow. And you'd better leave the bottleshere. Cultural exhibits, you know. II As the council meeting broke up, Retief caught the eye of a colleagueacross the table. Mr. Whaffle, you mentioned a shipment going to a place called Croanie.What are they getting? Whaffle blinked. You're the fellow who's filling in for Magnan, overat MUDDLE, he said. Properly speaking, equipment grants are thesole concern of the Motorized Equipment Depot, Division of Loans andExchanges. He pursed his lips. However, I suppose there's no harm intelling you. They'll be receiving heavy mining equipment. Drill rigs, that sort of thing? Strip mining gear. Whaffle took a slip of paper from a breast pocket,blinked at it. Bolo Model WV/1 tractors, to be specific. Why is MUDDLEinterested in MEDDLE's activities? Forgive my curiosity, Mr. Whaffle. It's just that Croanie cropped upearlier today. It seems she holds a mortgage on some vineyards overon— That's not MEDDLE's affair, sir, Whaffle cut in. I have sufficientproblems as Chief of MEDDLE without probing into MUDDLE'S business. Speaking of tractors, another man put in, we over at the SpecialCommittee for Rehabilitation and Overhaul of Under-developed Nations'General Economies have been trying for months to get a request formining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE— SCROUNGE was late on the scene, Whaffle said. First come, firstserved. That's our policy at MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen. He strodeoff, briefcase under his arm. That's the trouble with peaceful worlds, the SCROUNGE committeemansaid. Boge is a troublemaker, so every agency in the Corps is outto pacify her. While my chance to make a record—that is, assistpeace-loving d'Land—comes to naught. He shook his head. What kind of university do they have on d'Land? asked Retief. We'resending them two thousand exchange students. It must be quite aninstitution. University? D'Land has one under-endowed technical college. Will all the exchange students be studying at the Technical College? Two thousand students? Hah! Two hundred students would overtax thefacilities of the college. I wonder if the Bogans know that? The Bogans? Why, most of d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwisetrade agreement she entered into with Boge. Two thousand studentsindeed! He snorted and walked away. <doc-sep>Retief stopped by the office to pick up a short cape, then rode theelevator to the roof of the 230-story Corps HQ building and hailed acab to the port. The Bogan students had arrived early. Retief saw themlined up on the ramp waiting to go through customs. It would be halfan hour before they were cleared through. He turned into the bar andordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised his glass. Happy days, he said. And nights to match. You said it. He gulped half his beer. My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh.Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a drag, sitting around this placewaiting.... You meeting somebody? Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids. How they expect—Never mind. Have one onme. Thanks. You a Scoutmaster? I'll tell you what I am. I'm a cradle-robber. You know— he turnedto Retief—not one of those kids is over eighteen. He hiccupped.Students, you know. Never saw a student with a beard, did you? Lots of times. You're meeting the students, are you? The young fellow blinked at Retief. Oh, you know about it, huh? I represent MUDDLE. Karsh finished his beer, ordered another. I came on ahead. Sort ofan advance guard for the kids. I trained 'em myself. Treated it likea game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't know how they'll act underpressure. If I had my old platoon— He looked at his beer glass, pushed it back. Had enough, he said. Solong, friend. Or are you coming along? Retief nodded. Might as well. <doc-sep>At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first ofthe Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped toattention, his chest out. Drop that, mister, Karsh snapped. Is that any way for a student toact? The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned. Heck, no, he said. Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go totown? We fellas were thinking— You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Nowline up! We have quarters ready for the students, Retief said. If you'd liketo bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laidon. Thanks, said Karsh. They'll stay here until take-off time. Can'thave the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas aboutgoing over the hill. He hiccupped. I mean they might play hookey. We've scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a longwait. MUDDLE's arranged theater tickets and a dinner. Sorry, Karsh said. As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off. Hehiccupped again. Can't travel without our baggage, y'know. Suit yourself, Retief said. Where's the baggage now? Coming in aboard a Croanie lighter. Maybe you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here. Sure, Karsh said. That's a good idea. Why don't you join us? Karshwinked. And bring a few beers. Not this time, Retief said. He watched the students, still emergingfrom Customs. They seem to be all boys, he commented. No femalestudents? Maybe later, Karsh said. You know, after we see how the first bunchis received. Back at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle. Do you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are boundfor? Why, the University at d'Land, of course. Would that be the Technical College? Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. I'm sure I've never pried into thesedetails. Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle? Retiefsaid. Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students aretravelling so far to study—at Corps expense. Mr. Magnan never— For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leavesme with the question of two thousand young male students headed fora world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors.But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligationto Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage onLovenbroy. Well! Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows.I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom! About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question, Retief said. Butnever mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractorswill Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program? Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business, Miss Furkle said. Mr. Magnanalways— I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can. <doc-sep>Miss Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left theoffice, descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the CorpsLibrary. In the stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored overindices. Can I help you? someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow. Thank you, ma'am, Retief said. I'm looking for information on amining rig. A Bolo model WV tractor. You won't find it in the industrial section, the librarian said.Come along. Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-litsection lettered ARMAMENTS. She took a tape from the shelf, pluggedit into the viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armoredvehicle. That's the model WV, she said. It's what is known as a continentalsiege unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower. There must be an error somewhere, Retief said. The Bolo model I wantis a tractor. Model WV M-1— Oh, the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade fordemolition work. That must be what confused you. Probably—among other things. Thank you. Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. I have the information youwanted, she said. I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under theimpression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths— Sure, Retief said. Shoot. How many tractors? Five hundred. Are you sure? Miss Furkle's chins quivered. Well! If you feel I'm incompetent— Just questioning the possibility of a mistake, Miss Furkle. Fivehundred tractors is a lot of equipment. Was there anything further? Miss Furkle inquired frigidly. I sincerely hope not, Retief said. III Leaning back in Magnan's padded chair with power swivel andhip-u-matic concontour, Retief leafed through a folder labelled CERP7-602-Ba; CROANIE (general). He paused at a page headed Industry. Still reading, he opened the desk drawer, took out the two bottles ofBacchus wine and two glasses. He poured an inch of wine into each andsipped the black wine meditatively. It would be a pity, he reflected, if anything should interfere with theproduction of such vintages.... Half an hour later he laid the folder aside, keyed the phone and putthrough a call to the Croanie Legation. He asked for the CommercialAttache. Retief here, Corps HQ, he said airily. About the MEDDLE shipment,the tractors. I'm wondering if there's been a slip up. My records showwe're shipping five hundred units.... That's correct. Five hundred. Retief waited. Ah ... are you there, Retief? I'm still here. And I'm still wondering about the five hundredtractors. It's perfectly in order. I thought it was all settled. Mr. Whaffle— One unit would require a good-sized plant to handle its output,Retief said. Now Croanie subsists on her fisheries. She has perhapshalf a dozen pint-sized processing plants. Maybe, in a bind, theycould handle the ore ten WV's could scrape up ... if Croanie had anyore. It doesn't. By the way, isn't a WV a poor choice as a miningoutfit? I should think— See here, Retief! Why all this interest in a few surplus tractors?And in any event, what business is it of yours how we plan to use theequipment? That's an internal affair of my government. Mr. Whaffle— I'm not Mr. Whaffle. What are you going to do with the other fourhundred and ninety tractors? I understood the grant was to be with no strings attached! I know it's bad manners to ask questions. It's an old diplomatictradition that any time you can get anybody to accept anything as agift, you've scored points in the game. But if Croanie has some schemecooking— <doc-sep>Nothing like that, Retief. It's a mere business transaction. What kind of business do you do with a Bolo WV? With or without ablade attached, it's what's known as a continental siege unit. Great Heavens, Retief! Don't jump to conclusions! Would you have usbranded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line? Certainly. You may speak freely. The tractors are for transshipment. We've gotten ourselves into adifficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodationto a group with which we have rather strong business ties. I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,Retief said. Any connection? Why ... ah ... no. Of course not, ha ha. Who gets the tractors eventually? Retief, this is unwarranted interference! Who gets them? They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see— And who's the friend you're helping out with an unauthorizedtransshipment of grant material? Why ... ah ... I've been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Boganrepresentative. And when will they be shipped? Why, they went out a week ago. They'll be half way there by now. Butlook here, Retief, this isn't what you're thinking! How do you know what I'm thinking? I don't know myself. Retief rangoff, buzzed the secretary. Miss Furkle, I'd like to be notified immediately of any newapplications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placementof students. Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now.Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in. Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I'd like to see him. I'll ask him if he has time. Great. Thanks. It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-facedman in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drabshirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression. <doc-sep>What is it you wish? he barked. I understood in my discussions withthe other ... ah ... civilian there'd be no further need for theseirritating conferences. I've just learned you're placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. Howmany this time? Two thousand. And where will they be going? Croanie. It's all in the application form I've handed in. Your job isto provide transportation. Will there be any other students embarking this season? Why ... perhaps. That's Boge's business. Gulver looked at Retief withpursed lips. As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching anothertwo thousand to Featherweight. Another under-populated world—and in the same cluster, I believe,Retief said. Your people must be unusually interested in that regionof space. If that's all you wanted to know, I'll be on my way. I have matters ofimportance to see to. After Gulver left, Retief called Miss Furkle in. I'd like to have abreak-out of all the student movements that have been planned under thepresent program, he said. And see if you can get a summary of whatMEDDLE has been shipping lately. Miss Furkle compressed her lips. If Mr. Magnan were here, I'm surehe wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of other departments.I ... overheard your conversation with the gentleman from the CroanieLegation— The lists, Miss Furkle. I'm not accustomed, Miss Furkle said, to intruding in mattersoutside our interest cluster. That's worse than listening in on phone conversations, eh? But nevermind. I need the information, Miss Furkle. Loyalty to my Chief— Loyalty to your pay-check should send you scuttling for the materialI've asked for, Retief said. I'm taking full responsibility. Nowscat. The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped a key. MUDDLE, Retief speaking.... Arapoulous's brown face appeared on the desk screen. How-do, Retief. Okay if I come up? Sure, Hank. I want to talk to you. In the office, Arapoulous took a chair. Sorry if I'm rushing you,Retief, he said. But have you got anything for me? Retief waved at the wine bottles. What do you know about Croanie? Croanie? Not much of a place. Mostly ocean. All right if you likefish, I guess. We import our seafood from there. Nice prawns in monsoontime. Over a foot long. You on good terms with them? Sure, I guess so. Course, they're pretty thick with Boge. So? Didn't I tell you? Boge was the bunch that tried to take us over herea dozen years back. They'd've made it too, if they hadn't had a lot ofbad luck. Their armor went in the drink, and without armor they're easygame. Miss Furkle buzzed. I have your lists, she said shortly. Bring them in, please. <doc-sep>The secretary placed the papers on the desk. Arapoulous caught her eyeand grinned. She sniffed and marched from the room. What that gal needs is a slippery time in the grape mash, Arapoulousobserved. Retief thumbed through the papers, pausing to read from timeto time. He finished and looked at Arapoulous. How many men do you need for the harvest, Hank? Retief inquired. Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass and looked thoughtful. A hundred would help, he said. A thousand would be better. Cheers. What would you say to two thousand? Two thousand? Retief, you're not fooling? I hope not. He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, askedfor the dispatch clerk. Hello, Jim. Say, I have a favor to ask of you. You know thatcontingent of Bogan students. They're traveling aboard the two CDTtransports. I'm interested in the baggage that goes with the students.Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. Jim came back to the phone. Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived.But there's a funny thing. It's not consigned to d'Land. It's ticketedclear through to Lovenbroy. Listen, Jim, Retief said. I want you to go over to the warehouse andtake a look at that baggage for me. Retief waited while the dispatch clerk carried out the errand. Thelevel in the two bottles had gone down an inch when Jim returned tothe phone. Hey, I took a look at that baggage, Retief. Something funny going on.Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand blasters, power pistols— It's okay, Jim. Nothing to worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim,I'm going to ask you to do something more for me. I'm covering for afriend. It seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word to get out, youunderstand. I'll send along a written change order in the morning thatwill cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to do.... Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous. As soon as I get off a couple of TWX's, I think we'd better get downto the port, Hank. I think I'd like to see the students off personally. IV Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port. What's going on here? he demanded. There's some funny business withmy baggage consignment. They won't let me see it! I've got a feelingit's not being loaded. You'd better hurry, Mr. Karsh, Retief said. You're scheduled toblast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded? Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren't movingwithout it! No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr.Karsh? Retief said blandly. Still, if you're worried— He turned toArapoulous. Hank, why don't you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and ...ah ... take care of him? I know just how to handle it, Arapoulous said. The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. I caught the tractor equipment,he said. Funny kind of mistake, but it's okay now. They're beingoff-loaded at d'Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He saidthey weren't looking for any students. The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage wasconsigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office willhave a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eyeout for the luggage. No telling where it's gotten to. Here! a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in atight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving. Hi there, Mr. Gulver, Retief called. How's Boge's business comingalong? Piracy! Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. You'vegot a hand in this, I don't doubt! Where's that Magnan fellow? What seems to be the problem? Retief said. Hold those transports! I've just been notified that the baggageshipment has been impounded. I'll remind you, that shipment enjoysdiplomatic free entry! Who told you it was impounded? Never mind! I have my sources! Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. Are you Mr. Retief ofCDT? one said. That's right. What about my baggage! Gulver cut in. And I'm warning you, if thoseships lift without— These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission, Retiefsaid. Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver? From where? I— Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears.Armaments? The only shipment I've held up seems to be somebody's arsenal, Retiefsaid. Now if you claim this is your baggage.... Why, impossible, Gulver said in a strained voice. Armaments?Ridiculous. There's been an error.... <doc-sep>At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases ofguns. No, of course not, he said dully. Not my baggage. Not mybaggage at all. Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh. What—what's this? Gulver spluttered. Karsh? What's happened? He had a little fall. He'll be okay, Arapoulous said. You'd better help him to the ship, Retief said. It's ready to lift.We wouldn't want him to miss it. Leave him to me! Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. I'llsee he's dealt with. I couldn't think of it, Retief said. He's a guest of the Corps, youknow. We'll see him safely aboard. Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identicaldrab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group. Take this man, Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at himdazedly, reached up to rub his head. We take our hospitality seriously, Retief said. We'll see him aboardthe vessel. Gulver opened his mouth. I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books inyour luggage, Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. You'll be busystraightening out the details of the mix-up. You'll want to avoidfurther complications. Ah. Ulp. Yes, Gulver said. He appeared unhappy. Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave. Your man—he's going too? Gulver blurted. He's not our man, properly speaking, Retief said. He lives onLovenbroy. Lovenbroy? Gulver choked. But ... the ... I.... I know you said the students were bound for d'Land, Retief said. ButI guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. Thecourse plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You'll be glad toknow they're still headed there—even without the baggage. Perhaps, Gulver said grimly, perhaps they'll manage without it. By the way, Retief said. There was another funny mix-up. Therewere some tractors—for industrial use, you'll recall. I believe youco-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. Theywere erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. Isaved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to havethem off-loaded at d'Land. D'Land! You've put the CSU's in the hands of Boge's bitterest enemies! But they're only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn't thatcorrect? That's ... correct. Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. Hold theships! he yelled. I'm canceling the student exchange— His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monstertransports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by thesecond, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver. They're off, he said. Let's hope they get a liberal education. V Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tallfigure appeared on the knoll above him and waved. Retief! Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief,slapping him on the back. I heard you were here—and I've got newsfor you. You won the final day's picking competition. Over two hundredbushels! That's a record! Let's get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration's aboutto start. In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief andArapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tallgirl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up toArapoulous. Delinda, this is Retief—today's winner. And he's also the fellow thatgot those workers for us. Delinda smiled at Retief. I've heard about you, Mr. Retief. Weweren't sure about the boys at first. Two thousand Bogans, and allconfused about their baggage that went astray. But they seemed to likethe picking. She smiled again. That's not all. Our gals liked the boys, Hank said. Even Bogansaren't so bad, minus their irons. A lot of 'em will be staying on. Buthow come you didn't tell me you were coming, Retief? I'd have laid onsome kind of big welcome. I liked the welcome I got. And I didn't have much notice. Mr. Magnanwas a little upset when he got back. It seems I exceeded my authority. Arapoulous laughed. I had a feeling you were wheeling pretty free,Retief. I hope you didn't get into any trouble over it. No trouble, Retief said. A few people were a little unhappy withme. It seems I'm not ready for important assignments at Departmentallevel. I was shipped off here to the boondocks to get a little moreexperience. Delinda, look after Retief, said Arapoulous. I'll see you later.I've got to see to the wine judging. He disappeared in the crowd. Congratulations on winning the day, said Delinda. I noticed you atwork. You were wonderful. I'm glad you're going to have the prize. Thanks. I noticed you too, flitting around in that white nightie ofyours. But why weren't you picking grapes with the rest of us? I had a special assignment. Too bad. You should have had a chance at the prize. Delinda took Retief's hand. I wouldn't have anyway, she said. I'mthe prize. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Croanie, and why is it important in the story?

Croanie is a member of the Nicodemean Cluster of the Galaxy and is an associate of Boge, a member known to be a troublemaker. They tried to steal minerals from Lovenbroy earlier by attacking them. Croanie is under obligation to Boge. Croanie is the world that gave Lovenbroy a loan when it needed money to help tide it over until its next grape harvest. Croanie gave Lovenbroy a mortgage on its crops and holds a security interest in half of the grape acreage that it will acquire if Lovenbroy cannot meet the loan payment that is coming due. This is the reason that Hank Arapoulous goes to MEDDLE and asks for help obtaining workers to go to Lovenbroy and harvest the crop. It also turns out that Croanie is involved in Boge’s efforts to attack Lovenbroy and gain access to its minerals. Mr. Whaffle reveals to Retief that Croanie is set to receive a shipment of heavy mining equipment, but Croanie is best known for its oceans and fishing and has no ore. In addition, when the Bogan exchange students arrive without their luggage, Mr. Karsh says their luggage is coming from Croanie. When their luggage does arrive, it is full of weapons. The “tractors” that are being shipped to Croanie are really armored vehicles that are continental siege units that carry four men and have a half-megaton/second firepower. Mr. Whaffle reveals that the tractors are for transshipment and that Croanie is in a difficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise, with Boge. There is also an application for 2,000 more “exchange students” to be sent to Croanie.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work, but it would make him a man. And kids had a right to grow up—some of them! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. The old man with his thick neck, thick cigar, evening highball, potgutand bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervouslypolite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailtythat he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all,marking moron time in a gray dream. Man, was he glad to break out. The old man said, He'll be okay. Let him alone. But he won't eat. Just lies there all the time. Hell, the old man said. Sixteen's a bad time. School over, waitingfor the draft and all. He's in between. It's rough. Mother clasped her forearms and shook her head once slowly. We got to let him go, Eva. It's a dangerous time. You got to rememberabout all these dangerous repressed impulses piling up with nowhere togo, like they say. You read the books. But he's unhappy. Are we specialists? That's the Youth Board's headache, ain't it? Whatdo we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Now get dressed orwe'll be late. Wayne watched the ritual, grinning. He listened to their purposelessnoises, their blabbing and yakking as if they had something to say.Blab-blab about the same old bones, and end up chewing them in thesame old ways. Then they begin all over again. A freak sideshow all theway to nowhere. Squareheads going around either unconscious or witheyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retireinto limbo. How come he'd been stuck with parental images like that? Onething—when he was jockeying a rocket to Mars or maybe firing the pantsoff Asiatic reds in some steamy gone jungle paradise, he'd forget hispunkie origins in teeveeland. But the old man was right on for once about the dangerous repressedimpulses. Wayne had heard about it often enough. Anyway there was nodoubt about it when every move he made was a restrained explosion.So he'd waited in his room, and it wasn't easy sweating it out alonewaiting for the breakout call from HQ. Well, dear, if you say so, Mother said, with the old resigned sighthat must make the old man feel like Superman with a beerbelly. They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. Relax, Wayne said. You're not going anywhere tonight. What, son? his old man said uneasily. Sure we are. We're going tothe movies. He could feel them watching him, waiting; and yet still he didn'tanswer. Somewhere out in suburban grayness a dog barked, then wassilent. Okay, go, Wayne said. If you wanta walk. I'm taking the familyboltbucket. But we promised the Clemons, dear, his mother said. Hell, Wayne said, grinning straight into the old man. I just got mydraft call. He saw the old man's Adam's apple move. Oh, my dear boy, Mother criedout. So gimme the keys, Wayne said. The old man handed the keys over. Hisunderstanding smile was strained, and fear flicked in his sagging eyes. Do be careful, dear, his mother said. She ran toward him as helaughed and shut the door on her. He was still laughing as he whoomedthe Olds between the pale dead glow of houses and roared up the ramponto the Freeway. Ahead was the promising glitter of adventure-callingneon, and he looked up at the high skies of night and his eyes sailedthe glaring wonders of escape. <doc-sep>He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strodeunder a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casuallyto the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and apansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. Where you think you're going, my pretty lad? Wayne grinned down. Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey. Well, the sergeant said. How tough we are this evening. You have apass, killer? Wayne Seton. Draft call. Oh. The sergeant checked his name off a roster and nodded. He wroteon a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. Go to the Armory andcheck out whatever your lusting little heart desires. Then report toCaptain Jack, room 307. Thanks, sarge dear, Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. A tired fat corporal with a naked head blinked up at tall Wayne.Finally he said, So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kidbreaking out tonight? Hold your teeth, pop, Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting acigarette. I've decided. The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement.Take it from a vet, bud. Sooner you go the better. It's a big city andyou're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babesare clever hellcats in a dark alley. You must be a genius, Wayne said. A corporal with no hair and stilla counterboy. I'm impressed. I'm all ears, Dad. The corporal sighed wearily. You can get that balloon headventilated, bud, and good. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward theshelves and racks of weapons. I'll remember that crack when I getmy commission. He blew smoke in the corporal's face. Bring me aSmith and Wesson .38, shoulder holster with spring-clip. And throw ina Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with thedouble springs. The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchbladedisguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger,while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled thecylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slippedthe knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at itsgleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refractedincandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting andscary. He removed his leather jacket. He slung the holster under his leftarmpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling theway the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm. He put his jacketback on and the switchblade case in his pocket. He walked toward theelevator and didn't look back as the corporal said, Good luck, tiger. Captain Jack moved massively. The big stone-walled office, alive withstuffed lion and tiger and gunracks, seemed to grow smaller. CaptainJack crossed black-booted legs and whacked a cane at the floor. It hada head shaped like a grinning bear. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed toshrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a peaamong bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggyhead. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. Wayne Seton, said Captain Jack as if he were discussing somethingin a bug collection. Well, well, you're really fired up aren't you?Really going out to eat 'em. Right, punk? Yes, sir, Wayne said. He ran wet hands down the sides of his chinos.His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fearthe way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'llshow you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat untilhe screamed. They kept a guy on the fire until desire leaped in him,ran and billowed and roared until his brain was filled with it. Butthat wasn't enough. If this muscle-bound creep was such a big boy,what was he doing holding down a desk? Well, this is it, punk. You go the distance or start a butterflycollection. The cane darted up. A blade snicked from the end and stopped an inchfrom Wayne's nose. He jerked up a shaky hand involuntarily and clampeda knuckle-ridged gag to his gasping mouth. Captain Jack chuckled. All right, superboy. He handed Wayne hispasscard. Curfew's off, punk, for 6 hours. You got 6 hours to makeout. Yes, sir. Your beast is primed and waiting at the Four Aces Club on the WestSide. Know where that is, punk? No, sir, but I'll find it fast. Sure you will, punk, smiled Captain Jack. She'll be wearing yellowslacks and a red shirt. Black hair, a cute trick. She's with a heftypsycho who eats punks for breakfast. He's butchered five people.They're both on top of the Undesirable list, Seton. They got to go andthey're your key to the stars. Yes, sir, Wayne said. So run along and make out, punk, grinned Captain Jack. <doc-sep>A copcar stopped Wayne as he started over the bridge, out of brightrespectable neon into the murky westside slum over the river. Wayne waved the pass card, signed by Captain Jack, under the cop'squivering nose. The cop shivered and stepped back and waved him on. TheOlds roared over the bridge as the night's rain blew away. The air through the open window was chill and damp coming fromSlumville, but Wayne felt a cold that wasn't of the night or the wind.He turned off into a rat's warren of the inferiors. Lights turned pale,secretive and sparse, the uncared-for streets became rough with pittedpotholes, narrow and winding and humid with wet unpleasant smells.Wayne's fearful exhilaration increased as he cruised with bated breaththrough the dark mazes of streets and rickety tenements crawling withthe shadows of mysterious promise. He found the alley, dark, a gloom-dripping tunnel. He drove cautiouslyinto it and rolled along, watching. His belly ached with expectancy ashe spotted the sick-looking dab of neon wanly sparkling. FOUR ACES CLUB He parked across the alley. He got out and stood in shadows, diggingthe sultry beat of a combo, the wild pulse of drums and spinning brassfiltering through windows painted black. He breathed deep, started over, ducked back. A stewbum weaved out ofa bank of garbage cans, humming to himself, pulling at a rainsoakedshirt clinging to a pale stick body. He reminded Wayne of a slim grubbalanced on one end. The stewbum stumbled. His bearded face in dim breaking moonlight hada dirty, greenish tinge as he sensed Wayne there. He turned in agrotesque uncoordinated jiggling and his eyes were wide with terror anddoom. I gotta hide, kid. They're on me. Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. The bum's fingers drew at the air like white talons. Help me, kid. He turned with a scratchy cry and retreated before the sudden blastof headlights from a Cad bulleting into the alley. The Cad rushedpast Wayne and he felt the engine-hot fumes against his legs. Tiressquealed. The Cad stopped and a teener in black jacket jumped out andcrouched as he began stalking the old rummy. This is him! This is him all right, the teener yelled, and one handcame up swinging a baseball bat. A head bobbed out of the Cad window and giggled. The fumble-footed rummy tried to run and plopped on wet pavement. Theteener moved in, while a faint odor of burnt rubber hovered in the airas the Cad cruised in a slow follow-up. Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonderat finding himself there, free and breaking out at last with no curfewand no law but his own. He felt as though he couldn't stop anything.Living seemed directionless, but he still would go with it regardless,until something dropped off or blew to hell like a hot light-bulb. Heheld his breath, waiting. His body was tensed and rigid as he moved inspirit with the hunting teener, an omniscient shadow with a huntinglicense and a ghetto jungle twenty miles deep. The crawling stewbum screamed as the baseball bat whacked. The teenerlaughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yellclogged up somewhere, so that he remained soundless yet with his mouthstill open as he heard the payoff thuds where the useless wino curledup with stick arms over his rheumy face. The teener laughed, tossed the bat away and began jumping up and downwith his hobnailed, mail-order air force boots. Then he ran into theCad. A hootch bottle soared out, made a brittle tink-tink of fallingglass. Go, man! The Cad wooshed by. It made a sort of hollow sucking noise as itbounced over the old man twice. Then the finlights diminished likebright wind-blown sparks. Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying inscummed rain pools. The smell of raw violence, the scent of blood, madehis heart thump like a trapped rubber ball in a cage. He hurried into the Four Aces, drawn by an exhilarating vision ... andpursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. <doc-sep>He walked through the wavering haze of smoke and liquored dizziness andstood until his eyes learned the dark. He spotted her red shirt andyellow legs over in the corner above a murky lighted table. He walked toward her, watching her little subhuman pixie face lift.The eyes widened with exciting terror, turned even paler behind a redslash of sensuous mouth. Briefed and waiting, primed and eager forrunning, she recognized her pursuer at once. He sat at a table nearher, watching and grinning and seeing her squirm. She sat in that slightly baffled, fearful and uncomprehending attitudeof being motionless, as though they were all actors performing in aweirdo drama being staged in that smoky thick-aired dive. Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirtyT-shirt, a big bruiser with a gorilla face. He was tussling his mouseheavy. What's yours, teener? the slug-faced waiter asked. Bring me a Crusher, buddyroo, Wayne said, and flashed his pass card. Sure, teener. Red nuzzled the mouse's neck and made drooly noises. Wayne watched andfed on the promising terror and helplessness of her hunted face. Shesat rigid, eyes fixed on Wayne like balls of frozen glass. Red looked up and stared straight at Wayne with eyes like black buttonsimbedded in the waxlike skin of his face. Then he grinned all on oneside. One huge hand scratched across the wet table top like a furiouscat's. Wayne returned the challenging move but felt a nervous twitch jerk athis lips. A numbness covered his brain like a film as he concentratedon staring down Red the psycho. But Red kept looking, his eyes brightbut dead. Then he began struggling it up again with the scared littlemouse. The waiter sat the Crusher down. Wayne signed a chit; tonight he was inthe pay of the state. What else, teener? One thing. Fade. Sure, teener, the waiter said, his breathy words dripping like syrup. Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled hisveins, became hot wire twisting in his head. He drank again and forced out a shaky breath. The jazz beat thumpedfast and muted brass moaned. Drumpulse, stabbing trumpet raped theair. Tension mounted as Wayne watched her pale throat convulsing, thewhite eyelids fluttering. Red fingered at her legs and salivated at herthroat, glancing now and then at Wayne, baiting him good. Okay, you creep, Wayne said. He stood up and started through the haze. The psycho leaped and a tablecrashed. Wayne's .38 dropped from its spring-clip holster and the blastfilled the room. The psycho screamed and stumbled toward the doorholding something in. The mouse darted by, eluded Wayne's grasp and wasout the door. Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt thecold strange breath of moist air on his sweating skin as he sprinteddown the alley into a wind full of blowing wet. He ran laughing under the crazy starlight and glimpsed her now andthen, fading in and out of shadows, jumping, crawling, running with thelife-or-death animation of a wild deer. Up and down alleys, a rat's maze. A rabbit run. Across vacant lots.Through shattered tenement ruins. Over a fence. There she was, falling,sliding down a brick shute. He gained. He moved up. His labored breath pumped more fire. And herscream was a rejuvenation hypo in his blood. <doc-sep>She quivered above him on the stoop, panting, her eyes afire withterror. You, baby, Wayne gasped. I gotcha. She backed into darkness, up there against the sagging tenement wall,her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gavea squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked.He clambered over rotten lumber. The doorway sagged and he hesitatedin the musty dark. A few feet away was the sound of loose tricklingplaster, a whimpering whine. No use running, Wayne said. Go loose. Give, baby. Give now. She scurried up sagging stairs. Wayne laughed and dug up after her,feeling his way through debris. Dim moonlight filtered through asagging stairway from a shattered skylight three floors up. The mouse'sshadow floated ahead. He started up. The entire stair structure canted sickeningly. A railingripped and he nearly went with it back down to the first floor. Heheard a scream as rotten boards crumbled and dust exploded fromcracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into thethird-floor hallway and saw her half-falling through a door under thejagged skylight. Wayne took his time. He knew how she felt waiting in there, listeningto his creeping, implacable footfalls. Then he yelled and slammed open the door. Dust and stench, filth so awful it made nothing of the dust. Inthe corner he saw something hardly to be called a bed. More likea nest. A dirty, lumpy pile of torn mattress, felt, excelsior,shredded newspapers and rags. It seemed to crawl a little under themoon-streaming skylight. She crouched in the corner panting. He took his time moving in. Hesnickered as he flashed the switchblade and circled it like a serpent'stongue. He watched what was left of her nerves go to pieces like rottencloth. Do it quick, hunter, she whispered. Please do it quick. What's that, baby? I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know thedifference. I'm gonna bruise and beat you, he said. Kill me first, she begged. I don't want— She began to cry. Shecried right up in his face, her wide eyes unblinking, and her mouthopen. You got bad blood, baby, he snarled. He laughed but it didn't soundlike him and something was wrong with his belly. It was knotting up. Bad, I know! So get it over with, please. Hurry, hurry. She was small and white and quivering. She moaned but kept staring upat him. He ripped off his rivet-studded belt and swung once, then groaned andshuffled away from her. He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging andclutching with both arms as she wriggled forward on her knees. Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh,God, I'm so tired waiting and running! I can't, he said, and sickness soured in his throat. Please. I can't, I can't! He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs. <doc-sep>Doctor Burns, head of the readjustment staff at the Youth Center,studied Wayne with abstract interest. You enjoyed the hunt, Seton? You got your kicks? Yes, sir. But you couldn't execute them? No, sir. They're undesirables. Incurables. You know that, Seton? Yes, sir. The psycho you only wounded. He's a five-times murderer. And that girlkilled her father when she was twelve. You realize there's nothing canbe done for them? That they have to be executed? I know. Too bad, the doctor said. We all have aggressive impulses, primitiveneeds that must be expressed early, purged. There's murder in allof us, Seton. The impulse shouldn't be denied or suppressed, but educated . The state used to kill them. Isn't it better all around,Seton, for us to do it, as part of growing up? What was the matter,Seton? I—felt sorry for her. Is that all you can say about it? Yes, sir. The doctor pressed a buzzer. Two men in white coats entered. You should have got it out of your system, Seton, but now it's stillin there. I can't turn you out and have it erupt later—and maybe shedclean innocent blood, can I? No, sir, Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. I'm sorry I punked out. Give him the treatment, the doctor said wearily. And send him backto his mother. Wayne nodded and they led him away. His mind screamed still to splitopen some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But therewas no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and hispoker-playing pals. They had all punked out. Like him. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

The story opens on a discussion at home between a husband and wife being overheard by their sixteen-year-old son, Wayne. They are distraught over their son’s attitude and attribute it to his age and the buildup of repressed impulses. Wayne views is parents with contempt. He reveals that he has been called to be drafted and leaves them to go to the authorities taking the family automobile.Arriving at the Youth Center, Wayne navigates the bureaucracy of being drafted which involves registering and being issued with a firearm and a switchblade. He bristles against the military authority figures at the youth center, deriding their appearance and position. Wayne is cocky and confident even as he is warned about the dangers of his mission. Wayne is assigned a mission that involves killing a known murderer and his girl. He has six hours of autonomy where he is privileged to operate outside of the normal rule of law.Wayne makes his way to a rougher neighborhood and witnesses another teenager hunt down and brutally murder a vagrant with a baseball bat. Wayne enters the bar which contains his target. He locates and engages them, shooting the man and chasing the woman out of the bar into a crumbling apartment building. When he eventually corners her, she begs him to kill her quickly. Wayne however is overcome with a physical aversion to the violence he was intending to commit.Wayne is later being evaluated back at the Youth Center. It is revealed that society engages teenagers to execute criminals as a preferred outlet for their aggressive impulses. Those that go through with an execution are initiated into the military. Wayne mournfully contemplates that “punking out” in failing to execute his targets relegates him to a shameful, nondescript life much like that of his own father.

Describe the setting of the story [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work, but it would make him a man. And kids had a right to grow up—some of them! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. The old man with his thick neck, thick cigar, evening highball, potgutand bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervouslypolite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailtythat he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all,marking moron time in a gray dream. Man, was he glad to break out. The old man said, He'll be okay. Let him alone. But he won't eat. Just lies there all the time. Hell, the old man said. Sixteen's a bad time. School over, waitingfor the draft and all. He's in between. It's rough. Mother clasped her forearms and shook her head once slowly. We got to let him go, Eva. It's a dangerous time. You got to rememberabout all these dangerous repressed impulses piling up with nowhere togo, like they say. You read the books. But he's unhappy. Are we specialists? That's the Youth Board's headache, ain't it? Whatdo we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Now get dressed orwe'll be late. Wayne watched the ritual, grinning. He listened to their purposelessnoises, their blabbing and yakking as if they had something to say.Blab-blab about the same old bones, and end up chewing them in thesame old ways. Then they begin all over again. A freak sideshow all theway to nowhere. Squareheads going around either unconscious or witheyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retireinto limbo. How come he'd been stuck with parental images like that? Onething—when he was jockeying a rocket to Mars or maybe firing the pantsoff Asiatic reds in some steamy gone jungle paradise, he'd forget hispunkie origins in teeveeland. But the old man was right on for once about the dangerous repressedimpulses. Wayne had heard about it often enough. Anyway there was nodoubt about it when every move he made was a restrained explosion.So he'd waited in his room, and it wasn't easy sweating it out alonewaiting for the breakout call from HQ. Well, dear, if you say so, Mother said, with the old resigned sighthat must make the old man feel like Superman with a beerbelly. They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. Relax, Wayne said. You're not going anywhere tonight. What, son? his old man said uneasily. Sure we are. We're going tothe movies. He could feel them watching him, waiting; and yet still he didn'tanswer. Somewhere out in suburban grayness a dog barked, then wassilent. Okay, go, Wayne said. If you wanta walk. I'm taking the familyboltbucket. But we promised the Clemons, dear, his mother said. Hell, Wayne said, grinning straight into the old man. I just got mydraft call. He saw the old man's Adam's apple move. Oh, my dear boy, Mother criedout. So gimme the keys, Wayne said. The old man handed the keys over. Hisunderstanding smile was strained, and fear flicked in his sagging eyes. Do be careful, dear, his mother said. She ran toward him as helaughed and shut the door on her. He was still laughing as he whoomedthe Olds between the pale dead glow of houses and roared up the ramponto the Freeway. Ahead was the promising glitter of adventure-callingneon, and he looked up at the high skies of night and his eyes sailedthe glaring wonders of escape. <doc-sep>He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strodeunder a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casuallyto the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and apansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. Where you think you're going, my pretty lad? Wayne grinned down. Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey. Well, the sergeant said. How tough we are this evening. You have apass, killer? Wayne Seton. Draft call. Oh. The sergeant checked his name off a roster and nodded. He wroteon a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. Go to the Armory andcheck out whatever your lusting little heart desires. Then report toCaptain Jack, room 307. Thanks, sarge dear, Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. A tired fat corporal with a naked head blinked up at tall Wayne.Finally he said, So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kidbreaking out tonight? Hold your teeth, pop, Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting acigarette. I've decided. The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement.Take it from a vet, bud. Sooner you go the better. It's a big city andyou're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babesare clever hellcats in a dark alley. You must be a genius, Wayne said. A corporal with no hair and stilla counterboy. I'm impressed. I'm all ears, Dad. The corporal sighed wearily. You can get that balloon headventilated, bud, and good. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward theshelves and racks of weapons. I'll remember that crack when I getmy commission. He blew smoke in the corporal's face. Bring me aSmith and Wesson .38, shoulder holster with spring-clip. And throw ina Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with thedouble springs. The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchbladedisguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger,while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled thecylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slippedthe knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at itsgleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refractedincandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting andscary. He removed his leather jacket. He slung the holster under his leftarmpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling theway the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm. He put his jacketback on and the switchblade case in his pocket. He walked toward theelevator and didn't look back as the corporal said, Good luck, tiger. Captain Jack moved massively. The big stone-walled office, alive withstuffed lion and tiger and gunracks, seemed to grow smaller. CaptainJack crossed black-booted legs and whacked a cane at the floor. It hada head shaped like a grinning bear. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed toshrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a peaamong bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggyhead. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. Wayne Seton, said Captain Jack as if he were discussing somethingin a bug collection. Well, well, you're really fired up aren't you?Really going out to eat 'em. Right, punk? Yes, sir, Wayne said. He ran wet hands down the sides of his chinos.His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fearthe way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'llshow you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat untilhe screamed. They kept a guy on the fire until desire leaped in him,ran and billowed and roared until his brain was filled with it. Butthat wasn't enough. If this muscle-bound creep was such a big boy,what was he doing holding down a desk? Well, this is it, punk. You go the distance or start a butterflycollection. The cane darted up. A blade snicked from the end and stopped an inchfrom Wayne's nose. He jerked up a shaky hand involuntarily and clampeda knuckle-ridged gag to his gasping mouth. Captain Jack chuckled. All right, superboy. He handed Wayne hispasscard. Curfew's off, punk, for 6 hours. You got 6 hours to makeout. Yes, sir. Your beast is primed and waiting at the Four Aces Club on the WestSide. Know where that is, punk? No, sir, but I'll find it fast. Sure you will, punk, smiled Captain Jack. She'll be wearing yellowslacks and a red shirt. Black hair, a cute trick. She's with a heftypsycho who eats punks for breakfast. He's butchered five people.They're both on top of the Undesirable list, Seton. They got to go andthey're your key to the stars. Yes, sir, Wayne said. So run along and make out, punk, grinned Captain Jack. <doc-sep>A copcar stopped Wayne as he started over the bridge, out of brightrespectable neon into the murky westside slum over the river. Wayne waved the pass card, signed by Captain Jack, under the cop'squivering nose. The cop shivered and stepped back and waved him on. TheOlds roared over the bridge as the night's rain blew away. The air through the open window was chill and damp coming fromSlumville, but Wayne felt a cold that wasn't of the night or the wind.He turned off into a rat's warren of the inferiors. Lights turned pale,secretive and sparse, the uncared-for streets became rough with pittedpotholes, narrow and winding and humid with wet unpleasant smells.Wayne's fearful exhilaration increased as he cruised with bated breaththrough the dark mazes of streets and rickety tenements crawling withthe shadows of mysterious promise. He found the alley, dark, a gloom-dripping tunnel. He drove cautiouslyinto it and rolled along, watching. His belly ached with expectancy ashe spotted the sick-looking dab of neon wanly sparkling. FOUR ACES CLUB He parked across the alley. He got out and stood in shadows, diggingthe sultry beat of a combo, the wild pulse of drums and spinning brassfiltering through windows painted black. He breathed deep, started over, ducked back. A stewbum weaved out ofa bank of garbage cans, humming to himself, pulling at a rainsoakedshirt clinging to a pale stick body. He reminded Wayne of a slim grubbalanced on one end. The stewbum stumbled. His bearded face in dim breaking moonlight hada dirty, greenish tinge as he sensed Wayne there. He turned in agrotesque uncoordinated jiggling and his eyes were wide with terror anddoom. I gotta hide, kid. They're on me. Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. The bum's fingers drew at the air like white talons. Help me, kid. He turned with a scratchy cry and retreated before the sudden blastof headlights from a Cad bulleting into the alley. The Cad rushedpast Wayne and he felt the engine-hot fumes against his legs. Tiressquealed. The Cad stopped and a teener in black jacket jumped out andcrouched as he began stalking the old rummy. This is him! This is him all right, the teener yelled, and one handcame up swinging a baseball bat. A head bobbed out of the Cad window and giggled. The fumble-footed rummy tried to run and plopped on wet pavement. Theteener moved in, while a faint odor of burnt rubber hovered in the airas the Cad cruised in a slow follow-up. Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonderat finding himself there, free and breaking out at last with no curfewand no law but his own. He felt as though he couldn't stop anything.Living seemed directionless, but he still would go with it regardless,until something dropped off or blew to hell like a hot light-bulb. Heheld his breath, waiting. His body was tensed and rigid as he moved inspirit with the hunting teener, an omniscient shadow with a huntinglicense and a ghetto jungle twenty miles deep. The crawling stewbum screamed as the baseball bat whacked. The teenerlaughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yellclogged up somewhere, so that he remained soundless yet with his mouthstill open as he heard the payoff thuds where the useless wino curledup with stick arms over his rheumy face. The teener laughed, tossed the bat away and began jumping up and downwith his hobnailed, mail-order air force boots. Then he ran into theCad. A hootch bottle soared out, made a brittle tink-tink of fallingglass. Go, man! The Cad wooshed by. It made a sort of hollow sucking noise as itbounced over the old man twice. Then the finlights diminished likebright wind-blown sparks. Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying inscummed rain pools. The smell of raw violence, the scent of blood, madehis heart thump like a trapped rubber ball in a cage. He hurried into the Four Aces, drawn by an exhilarating vision ... andpursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. <doc-sep>He walked through the wavering haze of smoke and liquored dizziness andstood until his eyes learned the dark. He spotted her red shirt andyellow legs over in the corner above a murky lighted table. He walked toward her, watching her little subhuman pixie face lift.The eyes widened with exciting terror, turned even paler behind a redslash of sensuous mouth. Briefed and waiting, primed and eager forrunning, she recognized her pursuer at once. He sat at a table nearher, watching and grinning and seeing her squirm. She sat in that slightly baffled, fearful and uncomprehending attitudeof being motionless, as though they were all actors performing in aweirdo drama being staged in that smoky thick-aired dive. Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirtyT-shirt, a big bruiser with a gorilla face. He was tussling his mouseheavy. What's yours, teener? the slug-faced waiter asked. Bring me a Crusher, buddyroo, Wayne said, and flashed his pass card. Sure, teener. Red nuzzled the mouse's neck and made drooly noises. Wayne watched andfed on the promising terror and helplessness of her hunted face. Shesat rigid, eyes fixed on Wayne like balls of frozen glass. Red looked up and stared straight at Wayne with eyes like black buttonsimbedded in the waxlike skin of his face. Then he grinned all on oneside. One huge hand scratched across the wet table top like a furiouscat's. Wayne returned the challenging move but felt a nervous twitch jerk athis lips. A numbness covered his brain like a film as he concentratedon staring down Red the psycho. But Red kept looking, his eyes brightbut dead. Then he began struggling it up again with the scared littlemouse. The waiter sat the Crusher down. Wayne signed a chit; tonight he was inthe pay of the state. What else, teener? One thing. Fade. Sure, teener, the waiter said, his breathy words dripping like syrup. Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled hisveins, became hot wire twisting in his head. He drank again and forced out a shaky breath. The jazz beat thumpedfast and muted brass moaned. Drumpulse, stabbing trumpet raped theair. Tension mounted as Wayne watched her pale throat convulsing, thewhite eyelids fluttering. Red fingered at her legs and salivated at herthroat, glancing now and then at Wayne, baiting him good. Okay, you creep, Wayne said. He stood up and started through the haze. The psycho leaped and a tablecrashed. Wayne's .38 dropped from its spring-clip holster and the blastfilled the room. The psycho screamed and stumbled toward the doorholding something in. The mouse darted by, eluded Wayne's grasp and wasout the door. Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt thecold strange breath of moist air on his sweating skin as he sprinteddown the alley into a wind full of blowing wet. He ran laughing under the crazy starlight and glimpsed her now andthen, fading in and out of shadows, jumping, crawling, running with thelife-or-death animation of a wild deer. Up and down alleys, a rat's maze. A rabbit run. Across vacant lots.Through shattered tenement ruins. Over a fence. There she was, falling,sliding down a brick shute. He gained. He moved up. His labored breath pumped more fire. And herscream was a rejuvenation hypo in his blood. <doc-sep>She quivered above him on the stoop, panting, her eyes afire withterror. You, baby, Wayne gasped. I gotcha. She backed into darkness, up there against the sagging tenement wall,her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gavea squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked.He clambered over rotten lumber. The doorway sagged and he hesitatedin the musty dark. A few feet away was the sound of loose tricklingplaster, a whimpering whine. No use running, Wayne said. Go loose. Give, baby. Give now. She scurried up sagging stairs. Wayne laughed and dug up after her,feeling his way through debris. Dim moonlight filtered through asagging stairway from a shattered skylight three floors up. The mouse'sshadow floated ahead. He started up. The entire stair structure canted sickeningly. A railingripped and he nearly went with it back down to the first floor. Heheard a scream as rotten boards crumbled and dust exploded fromcracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into thethird-floor hallway and saw her half-falling through a door under thejagged skylight. Wayne took his time. He knew how she felt waiting in there, listeningto his creeping, implacable footfalls. Then he yelled and slammed open the door. Dust and stench, filth so awful it made nothing of the dust. Inthe corner he saw something hardly to be called a bed. More likea nest. A dirty, lumpy pile of torn mattress, felt, excelsior,shredded newspapers and rags. It seemed to crawl a little under themoon-streaming skylight. She crouched in the corner panting. He took his time moving in. Hesnickered as he flashed the switchblade and circled it like a serpent'stongue. He watched what was left of her nerves go to pieces like rottencloth. Do it quick, hunter, she whispered. Please do it quick. What's that, baby? I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know thedifference. I'm gonna bruise and beat you, he said. Kill me first, she begged. I don't want— She began to cry. Shecried right up in his face, her wide eyes unblinking, and her mouthopen. You got bad blood, baby, he snarled. He laughed but it didn't soundlike him and something was wrong with his belly. It was knotting up. Bad, I know! So get it over with, please. Hurry, hurry. She was small and white and quivering. She moaned but kept staring upat him. He ripped off his rivet-studded belt and swung once, then groaned andshuffled away from her. He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging andclutching with both arms as she wriggled forward on her knees. Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh,God, I'm so tired waiting and running! I can't, he said, and sickness soured in his throat. Please. I can't, I can't! He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs. <doc-sep>Doctor Burns, head of the readjustment staff at the Youth Center,studied Wayne with abstract interest. You enjoyed the hunt, Seton? You got your kicks? Yes, sir. But you couldn't execute them? No, sir. They're undesirables. Incurables. You know that, Seton? Yes, sir. The psycho you only wounded. He's a five-times murderer. And that girlkilled her father when she was twelve. You realize there's nothing canbe done for them? That they have to be executed? I know. Too bad, the doctor said. We all have aggressive impulses, primitiveneeds that must be expressed early, purged. There's murder in allof us, Seton. The impulse shouldn't be denied or suppressed, but educated . The state used to kill them. Isn't it better all around,Seton, for us to do it, as part of growing up? What was the matter,Seton? I—felt sorry for her. Is that all you can say about it? Yes, sir. The doctor pressed a buzzer. Two men in white coats entered. You should have got it out of your system, Seton, but now it's stillin there. I can't turn you out and have it erupt later—and maybe shedclean innocent blood, can I? No, sir, Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. I'm sorry I punked out. Give him the treatment, the doctor said wearily. And send him backto his mother. Wayne nodded and they led him away. His mind screamed still to splitopen some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But therewas no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and hispoker-playing pals. They had all punked out. Like him. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story

The story is set in an urban environment in an unspecified time in the future. The story begins in a conventional domestic setting but quickly transitions to a Youth Center and then gritty underbelly of the city. The Youth Center is bureaucratic and clinical with Wayne making his way from registration to the Armory to his assignment. Later he returns to this center for psychological treatment. The inner-city area is known as Slumville and is filled with crumbling infrastructure and violent dealings. It is described as dark and mazelike with semi-abandoned buildings that are on the verge of collapse. The Four Aces Club where the main conflict of the story takes place is a seedy bar in Slumville where undesirables congregate. Smoky and filled with jazzy music, the club becomes a scene of tension and violence as Wayne confronts his targets there.

How is slang used in the story? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work, but it would make him a man. And kids had a right to grow up—some of them! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. The old man with his thick neck, thick cigar, evening highball, potgutand bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervouslypolite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailtythat he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all,marking moron time in a gray dream. Man, was he glad to break out. The old man said, He'll be okay. Let him alone. But he won't eat. Just lies there all the time. Hell, the old man said. Sixteen's a bad time. School over, waitingfor the draft and all. He's in between. It's rough. Mother clasped her forearms and shook her head once slowly. We got to let him go, Eva. It's a dangerous time. You got to rememberabout all these dangerous repressed impulses piling up with nowhere togo, like they say. You read the books. But he's unhappy. Are we specialists? That's the Youth Board's headache, ain't it? Whatdo we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Now get dressed orwe'll be late. Wayne watched the ritual, grinning. He listened to their purposelessnoises, their blabbing and yakking as if they had something to say.Blab-blab about the same old bones, and end up chewing them in thesame old ways. Then they begin all over again. A freak sideshow all theway to nowhere. Squareheads going around either unconscious or witheyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retireinto limbo. How come he'd been stuck with parental images like that? Onething—when he was jockeying a rocket to Mars or maybe firing the pantsoff Asiatic reds in some steamy gone jungle paradise, he'd forget hispunkie origins in teeveeland. But the old man was right on for once about the dangerous repressedimpulses. Wayne had heard about it often enough. Anyway there was nodoubt about it when every move he made was a restrained explosion.So he'd waited in his room, and it wasn't easy sweating it out alonewaiting for the breakout call from HQ. Well, dear, if you say so, Mother said, with the old resigned sighthat must make the old man feel like Superman with a beerbelly. They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. Relax, Wayne said. You're not going anywhere tonight. What, son? his old man said uneasily. Sure we are. We're going tothe movies. He could feel them watching him, waiting; and yet still he didn'tanswer. Somewhere out in suburban grayness a dog barked, then wassilent. Okay, go, Wayne said. If you wanta walk. I'm taking the familyboltbucket. But we promised the Clemons, dear, his mother said. Hell, Wayne said, grinning straight into the old man. I just got mydraft call. He saw the old man's Adam's apple move. Oh, my dear boy, Mother criedout. So gimme the keys, Wayne said. The old man handed the keys over. Hisunderstanding smile was strained, and fear flicked in his sagging eyes. Do be careful, dear, his mother said. She ran toward him as helaughed and shut the door on her. He was still laughing as he whoomedthe Olds between the pale dead glow of houses and roared up the ramponto the Freeway. Ahead was the promising glitter of adventure-callingneon, and he looked up at the high skies of night and his eyes sailedthe glaring wonders of escape. <doc-sep>He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strodeunder a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casuallyto the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and apansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. Where you think you're going, my pretty lad? Wayne grinned down. Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey. Well, the sergeant said. How tough we are this evening. You have apass, killer? Wayne Seton. Draft call. Oh. The sergeant checked his name off a roster and nodded. He wroteon a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. Go to the Armory andcheck out whatever your lusting little heart desires. Then report toCaptain Jack, room 307. Thanks, sarge dear, Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. A tired fat corporal with a naked head blinked up at tall Wayne.Finally he said, So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kidbreaking out tonight? Hold your teeth, pop, Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting acigarette. I've decided. The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement.Take it from a vet, bud. Sooner you go the better. It's a big city andyou're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babesare clever hellcats in a dark alley. You must be a genius, Wayne said. A corporal with no hair and stilla counterboy. I'm impressed. I'm all ears, Dad. The corporal sighed wearily. You can get that balloon headventilated, bud, and good. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward theshelves and racks of weapons. I'll remember that crack when I getmy commission. He blew smoke in the corporal's face. Bring me aSmith and Wesson .38, shoulder holster with spring-clip. And throw ina Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with thedouble springs. The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchbladedisguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger,while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled thecylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slippedthe knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at itsgleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refractedincandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting andscary. He removed his leather jacket. He slung the holster under his leftarmpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling theway the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm. He put his jacketback on and the switchblade case in his pocket. He walked toward theelevator and didn't look back as the corporal said, Good luck, tiger. Captain Jack moved massively. The big stone-walled office, alive withstuffed lion and tiger and gunracks, seemed to grow smaller. CaptainJack crossed black-booted legs and whacked a cane at the floor. It hada head shaped like a grinning bear. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed toshrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a peaamong bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggyhead. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. Wayne Seton, said Captain Jack as if he were discussing somethingin a bug collection. Well, well, you're really fired up aren't you?Really going out to eat 'em. Right, punk? Yes, sir, Wayne said. He ran wet hands down the sides of his chinos.His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fearthe way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'llshow you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat untilhe screamed. They kept a guy on the fire until desire leaped in him,ran and billowed and roared until his brain was filled with it. Butthat wasn't enough. If this muscle-bound creep was such a big boy,what was he doing holding down a desk? Well, this is it, punk. You go the distance or start a butterflycollection. The cane darted up. A blade snicked from the end and stopped an inchfrom Wayne's nose. He jerked up a shaky hand involuntarily and clampeda knuckle-ridged gag to his gasping mouth. Captain Jack chuckled. All right, superboy. He handed Wayne hispasscard. Curfew's off, punk, for 6 hours. You got 6 hours to makeout. Yes, sir. Your beast is primed and waiting at the Four Aces Club on the WestSide. Know where that is, punk? No, sir, but I'll find it fast. Sure you will, punk, smiled Captain Jack. She'll be wearing yellowslacks and a red shirt. Black hair, a cute trick. She's with a heftypsycho who eats punks for breakfast. He's butchered five people.They're both on top of the Undesirable list, Seton. They got to go andthey're your key to the stars. Yes, sir, Wayne said. So run along and make out, punk, grinned Captain Jack. <doc-sep>A copcar stopped Wayne as he started over the bridge, out of brightrespectable neon into the murky westside slum over the river. Wayne waved the pass card, signed by Captain Jack, under the cop'squivering nose. The cop shivered and stepped back and waved him on. TheOlds roared over the bridge as the night's rain blew away. The air through the open window was chill and damp coming fromSlumville, but Wayne felt a cold that wasn't of the night or the wind.He turned off into a rat's warren of the inferiors. Lights turned pale,secretive and sparse, the uncared-for streets became rough with pittedpotholes, narrow and winding and humid with wet unpleasant smells.Wayne's fearful exhilaration increased as he cruised with bated breaththrough the dark mazes of streets and rickety tenements crawling withthe shadows of mysterious promise. He found the alley, dark, a gloom-dripping tunnel. He drove cautiouslyinto it and rolled along, watching. His belly ached with expectancy ashe spotted the sick-looking dab of neon wanly sparkling. FOUR ACES CLUB He parked across the alley. He got out and stood in shadows, diggingthe sultry beat of a combo, the wild pulse of drums and spinning brassfiltering through windows painted black. He breathed deep, started over, ducked back. A stewbum weaved out ofa bank of garbage cans, humming to himself, pulling at a rainsoakedshirt clinging to a pale stick body. He reminded Wayne of a slim grubbalanced on one end. The stewbum stumbled. His bearded face in dim breaking moonlight hada dirty, greenish tinge as he sensed Wayne there. He turned in agrotesque uncoordinated jiggling and his eyes were wide with terror anddoom. I gotta hide, kid. They're on me. Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. The bum's fingers drew at the air like white talons. Help me, kid. He turned with a scratchy cry and retreated before the sudden blastof headlights from a Cad bulleting into the alley. The Cad rushedpast Wayne and he felt the engine-hot fumes against his legs. Tiressquealed. The Cad stopped and a teener in black jacket jumped out andcrouched as he began stalking the old rummy. This is him! This is him all right, the teener yelled, and one handcame up swinging a baseball bat. A head bobbed out of the Cad window and giggled. The fumble-footed rummy tried to run and plopped on wet pavement. Theteener moved in, while a faint odor of burnt rubber hovered in the airas the Cad cruised in a slow follow-up. Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonderat finding himself there, free and breaking out at last with no curfewand no law but his own. He felt as though he couldn't stop anything.Living seemed directionless, but he still would go with it regardless,until something dropped off or blew to hell like a hot light-bulb. Heheld his breath, waiting. His body was tensed and rigid as he moved inspirit with the hunting teener, an omniscient shadow with a huntinglicense and a ghetto jungle twenty miles deep. The crawling stewbum screamed as the baseball bat whacked. The teenerlaughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yellclogged up somewhere, so that he remained soundless yet with his mouthstill open as he heard the payoff thuds where the useless wino curledup with stick arms over his rheumy face. The teener laughed, tossed the bat away and began jumping up and downwith his hobnailed, mail-order air force boots. Then he ran into theCad. A hootch bottle soared out, made a brittle tink-tink of fallingglass. Go, man! The Cad wooshed by. It made a sort of hollow sucking noise as itbounced over the old man twice. Then the finlights diminished likebright wind-blown sparks. Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying inscummed rain pools. The smell of raw violence, the scent of blood, madehis heart thump like a trapped rubber ball in a cage. He hurried into the Four Aces, drawn by an exhilarating vision ... andpursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. <doc-sep>He walked through the wavering haze of smoke and liquored dizziness andstood until his eyes learned the dark. He spotted her red shirt andyellow legs over in the corner above a murky lighted table. He walked toward her, watching her little subhuman pixie face lift.The eyes widened with exciting terror, turned even paler behind a redslash of sensuous mouth. Briefed and waiting, primed and eager forrunning, she recognized her pursuer at once. He sat at a table nearher, watching and grinning and seeing her squirm. She sat in that slightly baffled, fearful and uncomprehending attitudeof being motionless, as though they were all actors performing in aweirdo drama being staged in that smoky thick-aired dive. Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirtyT-shirt, a big bruiser with a gorilla face. He was tussling his mouseheavy. What's yours, teener? the slug-faced waiter asked. Bring me a Crusher, buddyroo, Wayne said, and flashed his pass card. Sure, teener. Red nuzzled the mouse's neck and made drooly noises. Wayne watched andfed on the promising terror and helplessness of her hunted face. Shesat rigid, eyes fixed on Wayne like balls of frozen glass. Red looked up and stared straight at Wayne with eyes like black buttonsimbedded in the waxlike skin of his face. Then he grinned all on oneside. One huge hand scratched across the wet table top like a furiouscat's. Wayne returned the challenging move but felt a nervous twitch jerk athis lips. A numbness covered his brain like a film as he concentratedon staring down Red the psycho. But Red kept looking, his eyes brightbut dead. Then he began struggling it up again with the scared littlemouse. The waiter sat the Crusher down. Wayne signed a chit; tonight he was inthe pay of the state. What else, teener? One thing. Fade. Sure, teener, the waiter said, his breathy words dripping like syrup. Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled hisveins, became hot wire twisting in his head. He drank again and forced out a shaky breath. The jazz beat thumpedfast and muted brass moaned. Drumpulse, stabbing trumpet raped theair. Tension mounted as Wayne watched her pale throat convulsing, thewhite eyelids fluttering. Red fingered at her legs and salivated at herthroat, glancing now and then at Wayne, baiting him good. Okay, you creep, Wayne said. He stood up and started through the haze. The psycho leaped and a tablecrashed. Wayne's .38 dropped from its spring-clip holster and the blastfilled the room. The psycho screamed and stumbled toward the doorholding something in. The mouse darted by, eluded Wayne's grasp and wasout the door. Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt thecold strange breath of moist air on his sweating skin as he sprinteddown the alley into a wind full of blowing wet. He ran laughing under the crazy starlight and glimpsed her now andthen, fading in and out of shadows, jumping, crawling, running with thelife-or-death animation of a wild deer. Up and down alleys, a rat's maze. A rabbit run. Across vacant lots.Through shattered tenement ruins. Over a fence. There she was, falling,sliding down a brick shute. He gained. He moved up. His labored breath pumped more fire. And herscream was a rejuvenation hypo in his blood. <doc-sep>She quivered above him on the stoop, panting, her eyes afire withterror. You, baby, Wayne gasped. I gotcha. She backed into darkness, up there against the sagging tenement wall,her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gavea squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked.He clambered over rotten lumber. The doorway sagged and he hesitatedin the musty dark. A few feet away was the sound of loose tricklingplaster, a whimpering whine. No use running, Wayne said. Go loose. Give, baby. Give now. She scurried up sagging stairs. Wayne laughed and dug up after her,feeling his way through debris. Dim moonlight filtered through asagging stairway from a shattered skylight three floors up. The mouse'sshadow floated ahead. He started up. The entire stair structure canted sickeningly. A railingripped and he nearly went with it back down to the first floor. Heheard a scream as rotten boards crumbled and dust exploded fromcracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into thethird-floor hallway and saw her half-falling through a door under thejagged skylight. Wayne took his time. He knew how she felt waiting in there, listeningto his creeping, implacable footfalls. Then he yelled and slammed open the door. Dust and stench, filth so awful it made nothing of the dust. Inthe corner he saw something hardly to be called a bed. More likea nest. A dirty, lumpy pile of torn mattress, felt, excelsior,shredded newspapers and rags. It seemed to crawl a little under themoon-streaming skylight. She crouched in the corner panting. He took his time moving in. Hesnickered as he flashed the switchblade and circled it like a serpent'stongue. He watched what was left of her nerves go to pieces like rottencloth. Do it quick, hunter, she whispered. Please do it quick. What's that, baby? I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know thedifference. I'm gonna bruise and beat you, he said. Kill me first, she begged. I don't want— She began to cry. Shecried right up in his face, her wide eyes unblinking, and her mouthopen. You got bad blood, baby, he snarled. He laughed but it didn't soundlike him and something was wrong with his belly. It was knotting up. Bad, I know! So get it over with, please. Hurry, hurry. She was small and white and quivering. She moaned but kept staring upat him. He ripped off his rivet-studded belt and swung once, then groaned andshuffled away from her. He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging andclutching with both arms as she wriggled forward on her knees. Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh,God, I'm so tired waiting and running! I can't, he said, and sickness soured in his throat. Please. I can't, I can't! He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs. <doc-sep>Doctor Burns, head of the readjustment staff at the Youth Center,studied Wayne with abstract interest. You enjoyed the hunt, Seton? You got your kicks? Yes, sir. But you couldn't execute them? No, sir. They're undesirables. Incurables. You know that, Seton? Yes, sir. The psycho you only wounded. He's a five-times murderer. And that girlkilled her father when she was twelve. You realize there's nothing canbe done for them? That they have to be executed? I know. Too bad, the doctor said. We all have aggressive impulses, primitiveneeds that must be expressed early, purged. There's murder in allof us, Seton. The impulse shouldn't be denied or suppressed, but educated . The state used to kill them. Isn't it better all around,Seton, for us to do it, as part of growing up? What was the matter,Seton? I—felt sorry for her. Is that all you can say about it? Yes, sir. The doctor pressed a buzzer. Two men in white coats entered. You should have got it out of your system, Seton, but now it's stillin there. I can't turn you out and have it erupt later—and maybe shedclean innocent blood, can I? No, sir, Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. I'm sorry I punked out. Give him the treatment, the doctor said wearily. And send him backto his mother. Wayne nodded and they led him away. His mind screamed still to splitopen some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But therewas no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and hispoker-playing pals. They had all punked out. Like him. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How is slang used in the story?

Distinctive teenage or “teener” vernacular language is used extensively throughout the story. Wayne uses slang to communicate his dismissiveness of those in authority. People who live commonplace lives are “squareheads” and “punks”. Some typical proper nouns are shortened “Olds” for Oldsmobile, “Cad” for Cadillac. The effect is to cement the story in a future where language has evolved from its current state with teens communicating in a way that distinguishes them from other more conventional member of society. Wayne’s interaction with the waiter is emblematic of this effect. By saying, “Bring me a Crusher,” and then “Fade,” it is signaled to the reader that Wayne views himself as a member of a select group with its own cant.

How does Wayne interact with the story’s other characters? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work, but it would make him a man. And kids had a right to grow up—some of them! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. The old man with his thick neck, thick cigar, evening highball, potgutand bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervouslypolite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailtythat he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all,marking moron time in a gray dream. Man, was he glad to break out. The old man said, He'll be okay. Let him alone. But he won't eat. Just lies there all the time. Hell, the old man said. Sixteen's a bad time. School over, waitingfor the draft and all. He's in between. It's rough. Mother clasped her forearms and shook her head once slowly. We got to let him go, Eva. It's a dangerous time. You got to rememberabout all these dangerous repressed impulses piling up with nowhere togo, like they say. You read the books. But he's unhappy. Are we specialists? That's the Youth Board's headache, ain't it? Whatdo we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Now get dressed orwe'll be late. Wayne watched the ritual, grinning. He listened to their purposelessnoises, their blabbing and yakking as if they had something to say.Blab-blab about the same old bones, and end up chewing them in thesame old ways. Then they begin all over again. A freak sideshow all theway to nowhere. Squareheads going around either unconscious or witheyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retireinto limbo. How come he'd been stuck with parental images like that? Onething—when he was jockeying a rocket to Mars or maybe firing the pantsoff Asiatic reds in some steamy gone jungle paradise, he'd forget hispunkie origins in teeveeland. But the old man was right on for once about the dangerous repressedimpulses. Wayne had heard about it often enough. Anyway there was nodoubt about it when every move he made was a restrained explosion.So he'd waited in his room, and it wasn't easy sweating it out alonewaiting for the breakout call from HQ. Well, dear, if you say so, Mother said, with the old resigned sighthat must make the old man feel like Superman with a beerbelly. They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. Relax, Wayne said. You're not going anywhere tonight. What, son? his old man said uneasily. Sure we are. We're going tothe movies. He could feel them watching him, waiting; and yet still he didn'tanswer. Somewhere out in suburban grayness a dog barked, then wassilent. Okay, go, Wayne said. If you wanta walk. I'm taking the familyboltbucket. But we promised the Clemons, dear, his mother said. Hell, Wayne said, grinning straight into the old man. I just got mydraft call. He saw the old man's Adam's apple move. Oh, my dear boy, Mother criedout. So gimme the keys, Wayne said. The old man handed the keys over. Hisunderstanding smile was strained, and fear flicked in his sagging eyes. Do be careful, dear, his mother said. She ran toward him as helaughed and shut the door on her. He was still laughing as he whoomedthe Olds between the pale dead glow of houses and roared up the ramponto the Freeway. Ahead was the promising glitter of adventure-callingneon, and he looked up at the high skies of night and his eyes sailedthe glaring wonders of escape. <doc-sep>He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strodeunder a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casuallyto the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and apansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. Where you think you're going, my pretty lad? Wayne grinned down. Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey. Well, the sergeant said. How tough we are this evening. You have apass, killer? Wayne Seton. Draft call. Oh. The sergeant checked his name off a roster and nodded. He wroteon a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. Go to the Armory andcheck out whatever your lusting little heart desires. Then report toCaptain Jack, room 307. Thanks, sarge dear, Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. A tired fat corporal with a naked head blinked up at tall Wayne.Finally he said, So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kidbreaking out tonight? Hold your teeth, pop, Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting acigarette. I've decided. The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement.Take it from a vet, bud. Sooner you go the better. It's a big city andyou're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babesare clever hellcats in a dark alley. You must be a genius, Wayne said. A corporal with no hair and stilla counterboy. I'm impressed. I'm all ears, Dad. The corporal sighed wearily. You can get that balloon headventilated, bud, and good. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward theshelves and racks of weapons. I'll remember that crack when I getmy commission. He blew smoke in the corporal's face. Bring me aSmith and Wesson .38, shoulder holster with spring-clip. And throw ina Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with thedouble springs. The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchbladedisguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger,while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled thecylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slippedthe knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at itsgleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refractedincandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting andscary. He removed his leather jacket. He slung the holster under his leftarmpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling theway the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm. He put his jacketback on and the switchblade case in his pocket. He walked toward theelevator and didn't look back as the corporal said, Good luck, tiger. Captain Jack moved massively. The big stone-walled office, alive withstuffed lion and tiger and gunracks, seemed to grow smaller. CaptainJack crossed black-booted legs and whacked a cane at the floor. It hada head shaped like a grinning bear. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed toshrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a peaamong bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggyhead. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. Wayne Seton, said Captain Jack as if he were discussing somethingin a bug collection. Well, well, you're really fired up aren't you?Really going out to eat 'em. Right, punk? Yes, sir, Wayne said. He ran wet hands down the sides of his chinos.His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fearthe way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'llshow you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat untilhe screamed. They kept a guy on the fire until desire leaped in him,ran and billowed and roared until his brain was filled with it. Butthat wasn't enough. If this muscle-bound creep was such a big boy,what was he doing holding down a desk? Well, this is it, punk. You go the distance or start a butterflycollection. The cane darted up. A blade snicked from the end and stopped an inchfrom Wayne's nose. He jerked up a shaky hand involuntarily and clampeda knuckle-ridged gag to his gasping mouth. Captain Jack chuckled. All right, superboy. He handed Wayne hispasscard. Curfew's off, punk, for 6 hours. You got 6 hours to makeout. Yes, sir. Your beast is primed and waiting at the Four Aces Club on the WestSide. Know where that is, punk? No, sir, but I'll find it fast. Sure you will, punk, smiled Captain Jack. She'll be wearing yellowslacks and a red shirt. Black hair, a cute trick. She's with a heftypsycho who eats punks for breakfast. He's butchered five people.They're both on top of the Undesirable list, Seton. They got to go andthey're your key to the stars. Yes, sir, Wayne said. So run along and make out, punk, grinned Captain Jack. <doc-sep>A copcar stopped Wayne as he started over the bridge, out of brightrespectable neon into the murky westside slum over the river. Wayne waved the pass card, signed by Captain Jack, under the cop'squivering nose. The cop shivered and stepped back and waved him on. TheOlds roared over the bridge as the night's rain blew away. The air through the open window was chill and damp coming fromSlumville, but Wayne felt a cold that wasn't of the night or the wind.He turned off into a rat's warren of the inferiors. Lights turned pale,secretive and sparse, the uncared-for streets became rough with pittedpotholes, narrow and winding and humid with wet unpleasant smells.Wayne's fearful exhilaration increased as he cruised with bated breaththrough the dark mazes of streets and rickety tenements crawling withthe shadows of mysterious promise. He found the alley, dark, a gloom-dripping tunnel. He drove cautiouslyinto it and rolled along, watching. His belly ached with expectancy ashe spotted the sick-looking dab of neon wanly sparkling. FOUR ACES CLUB He parked across the alley. He got out and stood in shadows, diggingthe sultry beat of a combo, the wild pulse of drums and spinning brassfiltering through windows painted black. He breathed deep, started over, ducked back. A stewbum weaved out ofa bank of garbage cans, humming to himself, pulling at a rainsoakedshirt clinging to a pale stick body. He reminded Wayne of a slim grubbalanced on one end. The stewbum stumbled. His bearded face in dim breaking moonlight hada dirty, greenish tinge as he sensed Wayne there. He turned in agrotesque uncoordinated jiggling and his eyes were wide with terror anddoom. I gotta hide, kid. They're on me. Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. The bum's fingers drew at the air like white talons. Help me, kid. He turned with a scratchy cry and retreated before the sudden blastof headlights from a Cad bulleting into the alley. The Cad rushedpast Wayne and he felt the engine-hot fumes against his legs. Tiressquealed. The Cad stopped and a teener in black jacket jumped out andcrouched as he began stalking the old rummy. This is him! This is him all right, the teener yelled, and one handcame up swinging a baseball bat. A head bobbed out of the Cad window and giggled. The fumble-footed rummy tried to run and plopped on wet pavement. Theteener moved in, while a faint odor of burnt rubber hovered in the airas the Cad cruised in a slow follow-up. Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonderat finding himself there, free and breaking out at last with no curfewand no law but his own. He felt as though he couldn't stop anything.Living seemed directionless, but he still would go with it regardless,until something dropped off or blew to hell like a hot light-bulb. Heheld his breath, waiting. His body was tensed and rigid as he moved inspirit with the hunting teener, an omniscient shadow with a huntinglicense and a ghetto jungle twenty miles deep. The crawling stewbum screamed as the baseball bat whacked. The teenerlaughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yellclogged up somewhere, so that he remained soundless yet with his mouthstill open as he heard the payoff thuds where the useless wino curledup with stick arms over his rheumy face. The teener laughed, tossed the bat away and began jumping up and downwith his hobnailed, mail-order air force boots. Then he ran into theCad. A hootch bottle soared out, made a brittle tink-tink of fallingglass. Go, man! The Cad wooshed by. It made a sort of hollow sucking noise as itbounced over the old man twice. Then the finlights diminished likebright wind-blown sparks. Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying inscummed rain pools. The smell of raw violence, the scent of blood, madehis heart thump like a trapped rubber ball in a cage. He hurried into the Four Aces, drawn by an exhilarating vision ... andpursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. <doc-sep>He walked through the wavering haze of smoke and liquored dizziness andstood until his eyes learned the dark. He spotted her red shirt andyellow legs over in the corner above a murky lighted table. He walked toward her, watching her little subhuman pixie face lift.The eyes widened with exciting terror, turned even paler behind a redslash of sensuous mouth. Briefed and waiting, primed and eager forrunning, she recognized her pursuer at once. He sat at a table nearher, watching and grinning and seeing her squirm. She sat in that slightly baffled, fearful and uncomprehending attitudeof being motionless, as though they were all actors performing in aweirdo drama being staged in that smoky thick-aired dive. Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirtyT-shirt, a big bruiser with a gorilla face. He was tussling his mouseheavy. What's yours, teener? the slug-faced waiter asked. Bring me a Crusher, buddyroo, Wayne said, and flashed his pass card. Sure, teener. Red nuzzled the mouse's neck and made drooly noises. Wayne watched andfed on the promising terror and helplessness of her hunted face. Shesat rigid, eyes fixed on Wayne like balls of frozen glass. Red looked up and stared straight at Wayne with eyes like black buttonsimbedded in the waxlike skin of his face. Then he grinned all on oneside. One huge hand scratched across the wet table top like a furiouscat's. Wayne returned the challenging move but felt a nervous twitch jerk athis lips. A numbness covered his brain like a film as he concentratedon staring down Red the psycho. But Red kept looking, his eyes brightbut dead. Then he began struggling it up again with the scared littlemouse. The waiter sat the Crusher down. Wayne signed a chit; tonight he was inthe pay of the state. What else, teener? One thing. Fade. Sure, teener, the waiter said, his breathy words dripping like syrup. Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled hisveins, became hot wire twisting in his head. He drank again and forced out a shaky breath. The jazz beat thumpedfast and muted brass moaned. Drumpulse, stabbing trumpet raped theair. Tension mounted as Wayne watched her pale throat convulsing, thewhite eyelids fluttering. Red fingered at her legs and salivated at herthroat, glancing now and then at Wayne, baiting him good. Okay, you creep, Wayne said. He stood up and started through the haze. The psycho leaped and a tablecrashed. Wayne's .38 dropped from its spring-clip holster and the blastfilled the room. The psycho screamed and stumbled toward the doorholding something in. The mouse darted by, eluded Wayne's grasp and wasout the door. Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt thecold strange breath of moist air on his sweating skin as he sprinteddown the alley into a wind full of blowing wet. He ran laughing under the crazy starlight and glimpsed her now andthen, fading in and out of shadows, jumping, crawling, running with thelife-or-death animation of a wild deer. Up and down alleys, a rat's maze. A rabbit run. Across vacant lots.Through shattered tenement ruins. Over a fence. There she was, falling,sliding down a brick shute. He gained. He moved up. His labored breath pumped more fire. And herscream was a rejuvenation hypo in his blood. <doc-sep>She quivered above him on the stoop, panting, her eyes afire withterror. You, baby, Wayne gasped. I gotcha. She backed into darkness, up there against the sagging tenement wall,her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gavea squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked.He clambered over rotten lumber. The doorway sagged and he hesitatedin the musty dark. A few feet away was the sound of loose tricklingplaster, a whimpering whine. No use running, Wayne said. Go loose. Give, baby. Give now. She scurried up sagging stairs. Wayne laughed and dug up after her,feeling his way through debris. Dim moonlight filtered through asagging stairway from a shattered skylight three floors up. The mouse'sshadow floated ahead. He started up. The entire stair structure canted sickeningly. A railingripped and he nearly went with it back down to the first floor. Heheard a scream as rotten boards crumbled and dust exploded fromcracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into thethird-floor hallway and saw her half-falling through a door under thejagged skylight. Wayne took his time. He knew how she felt waiting in there, listeningto his creeping, implacable footfalls. Then he yelled and slammed open the door. Dust and stench, filth so awful it made nothing of the dust. Inthe corner he saw something hardly to be called a bed. More likea nest. A dirty, lumpy pile of torn mattress, felt, excelsior,shredded newspapers and rags. It seemed to crawl a little under themoon-streaming skylight. She crouched in the corner panting. He took his time moving in. Hesnickered as he flashed the switchblade and circled it like a serpent'stongue. He watched what was left of her nerves go to pieces like rottencloth. Do it quick, hunter, she whispered. Please do it quick. What's that, baby? I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know thedifference. I'm gonna bruise and beat you, he said. Kill me first, she begged. I don't want— She began to cry. Shecried right up in his face, her wide eyes unblinking, and her mouthopen. You got bad blood, baby, he snarled. He laughed but it didn't soundlike him and something was wrong with his belly. It was knotting up. Bad, I know! So get it over with, please. Hurry, hurry. She was small and white and quivering. She moaned but kept staring upat him. He ripped off his rivet-studded belt and swung once, then groaned andshuffled away from her. He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging andclutching with both arms as she wriggled forward on her knees. Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh,God, I'm so tired waiting and running! I can't, he said, and sickness soured in his throat. Please. I can't, I can't! He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs. <doc-sep>Doctor Burns, head of the readjustment staff at the Youth Center,studied Wayne with abstract interest. You enjoyed the hunt, Seton? You got your kicks? Yes, sir. But you couldn't execute them? No, sir. They're undesirables. Incurables. You know that, Seton? Yes, sir. The psycho you only wounded. He's a five-times murderer. And that girlkilled her father when she was twelve. You realize there's nothing canbe done for them? That they have to be executed? I know. Too bad, the doctor said. We all have aggressive impulses, primitiveneeds that must be expressed early, purged. There's murder in allof us, Seton. The impulse shouldn't be denied or suppressed, but educated . The state used to kill them. Isn't it better all around,Seton, for us to do it, as part of growing up? What was the matter,Seton? I—felt sorry for her. Is that all you can say about it? Yes, sir. The doctor pressed a buzzer. Two men in white coats entered. You should have got it out of your system, Seton, but now it's stillin there. I can't turn you out and have it erupt later—and maybe shedclean innocent blood, can I? No, sir, Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. I'm sorry I punked out. Give him the treatment, the doctor said wearily. And send him backto his mother. Wayne nodded and they led him away. His mind screamed still to splitopen some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But therewas no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and hispoker-playing pals. They had all punked out. Like him. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Wayne interact with the story’s other characters?

Wayne is a cocky, arrogant sixteen-year-old defined by his lack of respect for authority. His main goal in life is to be drafted into the military and lead an adventuring life.His unnamed parents care for their son but are nonplussed by his attitude and general demeanor of rebelliousness. They seem to live commonplace lives with domestic trips to the movie theatre or a neighborhood poker game. Wayne views this type of life as detestable. His interaction with his parents is crude and condescending.The military officials that Wayne meets in the Youth Center also elicit Wayne’s contempt. He views their desk jobs as an analog to his parents’ “punkie” existence. To Wayne, the only admirable way of life is one of high adventure. He disrespects most of the desk workers, but the commanding officer, Captain Jack, deflates his self-assurance.Wayne is keenly intent on hunting his targets. He stares them down tensely before violently engaging them. female target, nicknamed the “mouse”, is revealed to be a woman without hope. She’s tired of running and just wants to be put out of her misery. Surprisingly, at the moment of truth, Wayne cannot bring himself to execute the woman in cold blood, in his own words, “punking out”. He admits to the doctor analyzing him after his assignment that he felt sorry for her.

How does this society seek to deal with violence? [SEP] <s> THE RECRUIT BY BRYCE WALTON It was dirty work, but it would make him a man. And kids had a right to grow up—some of them! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Wayne, unseen, sneered down from the head of the stairs. The old man with his thick neck, thick cigar, evening highball, potgutand bald head without a brain in it. His slim mother with nervouslypolite smiles and voice fluttering, assuring the old man by her frailtythat he was big in the world. They were squareheads one and all,marking moron time in a gray dream. Man, was he glad to break out. The old man said, He'll be okay. Let him alone. But he won't eat. Just lies there all the time. Hell, the old man said. Sixteen's a bad time. School over, waitingfor the draft and all. He's in between. It's rough. Mother clasped her forearms and shook her head once slowly. We got to let him go, Eva. It's a dangerous time. You got to rememberabout all these dangerous repressed impulses piling up with nowhere togo, like they say. You read the books. But he's unhappy. Are we specialists? That's the Youth Board's headache, ain't it? Whatdo we know about adolescent trauma and like that? Now get dressed orwe'll be late. Wayne watched the ritual, grinning. He listened to their purposelessnoises, their blabbing and yakking as if they had something to say.Blab-blab about the same old bones, and end up chewing them in thesame old ways. Then they begin all over again. A freak sideshow all theway to nowhere. Squareheads going around either unconscious or witheyes looking dead from the millennium in the office waiting to retireinto limbo. How come he'd been stuck with parental images like that? Onething—when he was jockeying a rocket to Mars or maybe firing the pantsoff Asiatic reds in some steamy gone jungle paradise, he'd forget hispunkie origins in teeveeland. But the old man was right on for once about the dangerous repressedimpulses. Wayne had heard about it often enough. Anyway there was nodoubt about it when every move he made was a restrained explosion.So he'd waited in his room, and it wasn't easy sweating it out alonewaiting for the breakout call from HQ. Well, dear, if you say so, Mother said, with the old resigned sighthat must make the old man feel like Superman with a beerbelly. They heard Wayne slouching loosely down the stairs and looked up. Relax, Wayne said. You're not going anywhere tonight. What, son? his old man said uneasily. Sure we are. We're going tothe movies. He could feel them watching him, waiting; and yet still he didn'tanswer. Somewhere out in suburban grayness a dog barked, then wassilent. Okay, go, Wayne said. If you wanta walk. I'm taking the familyboltbucket. But we promised the Clemons, dear, his mother said. Hell, Wayne said, grinning straight into the old man. I just got mydraft call. He saw the old man's Adam's apple move. Oh, my dear boy, Mother criedout. So gimme the keys, Wayne said. The old man handed the keys over. Hisunderstanding smile was strained, and fear flicked in his sagging eyes. Do be careful, dear, his mother said. She ran toward him as helaughed and shut the door on her. He was still laughing as he whoomedthe Olds between the pale dead glow of houses and roared up the ramponto the Freeway. Ahead was the promising glitter of adventure-callingneon, and he looked up at the high skies of night and his eyes sailedthe glaring wonders of escape. <doc-sep>He burned off some rubber finding a slot in the park-lot. He strodeunder a sign reading Public Youth Center No. 947 and walked casuallyto the reception desk, where a thin man with sergeant's stripes and apansy haircut looked out of a pile of paperwork. Where you think you're going, my pretty lad? Wayne grinned down. Higher I hope than a typewriter jockey. Well, the sergeant said. How tough we are this evening. You have apass, killer? Wayne Seton. Draft call. Oh. The sergeant checked his name off a roster and nodded. He wroteon a slip of paper, handed the pass to Wayne. Go to the Armory andcheck out whatever your lusting little heart desires. Then report toCaptain Jack, room 307. Thanks, sarge dear, Wayne said and took the elevator up to the Armory. A tired fat corporal with a naked head blinked up at tall Wayne.Finally he said, So make up your mind, bud. Think you're the only kidbreaking out tonight? Hold your teeth, pop, Wayne said, coolly and slowly lighting acigarette. I've decided. The corporal's little eyes studied Wayne with malicious amusement.Take it from a vet, bud. Sooner you go the better. It's a big city andyou're starting late. You can get a cat, not a mouse, and some babesare clever hellcats in a dark alley. You must be a genius, Wayne said. A corporal with no hair and stilla counterboy. I'm impressed. I'm all ears, Dad. The corporal sighed wearily. You can get that balloon headventilated, bud, and good. Wayne's mouth twitched. He leaned across the counter toward theshelves and racks of weapons. I'll remember that crack when I getmy commission. He blew smoke in the corporal's face. Bring me aSmith and Wesson .38, shoulder holster with spring-clip. And throw ina Skelly switchblade for kicks—the six-inch disguised job with thedouble springs. The corporal waddled back with the revolver and the switchbladedisguised in a leather comb case. He checked them on a receipt ledger,while Wayne examined the weapons, broke open the revolver, twirled thecylinder and pushed cartridges into the waiting chamber. He slippedthe knife from the comb case, flicked open the blade and stared at itsgleam in the buttery light as his mouth went dry and the refractedincandescence of it trickled on his brain like melted ice, exciting andscary. He removed his leather jacket. He slung the holster under his leftarmpit and tested the spring clip release several times, feeling theway the serrated butt dropped into his wet palm. He put his jacketback on and the switchblade case in his pocket. He walked toward theelevator and didn't look back as the corporal said, Good luck, tiger. Captain Jack moved massively. The big stone-walled office, alive withstuffed lion and tiger and gunracks, seemed to grow smaller. CaptainJack crossed black-booted legs and whacked a cane at the floor. It hada head shaped like a grinning bear. Wayne felt the assured smile die on his face. Something seemed toshrink him. If he didn't watch himself he'd begin feeling like a peaamong bowling balls. Contemptuously amused little eyes glittered at Wayne from a shaggyhead. Shoulders hunched like stuffed sea-bags. Wayne Seton, said Captain Jack as if he were discussing somethingin a bug collection. Well, well, you're really fired up aren't you?Really going out to eat 'em. Right, punk? Yes, sir, Wayne said. He ran wet hands down the sides of his chinos.His legs seemed sheathed in lead as he bit inwardly at shrinking fearthe way a dog snaps at a wound. You big overblown son, he thought, I'llshow you but good who is a punk. They made a guy wait and sweat untilhe screamed. They kept a guy on the fire until desire leaped in him,ran and billowed and roared until his brain was filled with it. Butthat wasn't enough. If this muscle-bound creep was such a big boy,what was he doing holding down a desk? Well, this is it, punk. You go the distance or start a butterflycollection. The cane darted up. A blade snicked from the end and stopped an inchfrom Wayne's nose. He jerked up a shaky hand involuntarily and clampeda knuckle-ridged gag to his gasping mouth. Captain Jack chuckled. All right, superboy. He handed Wayne hispasscard. Curfew's off, punk, for 6 hours. You got 6 hours to makeout. Yes, sir. Your beast is primed and waiting at the Four Aces Club on the WestSide. Know where that is, punk? No, sir, but I'll find it fast. Sure you will, punk, smiled Captain Jack. She'll be wearing yellowslacks and a red shirt. Black hair, a cute trick. She's with a heftypsycho who eats punks for breakfast. He's butchered five people.They're both on top of the Undesirable list, Seton. They got to go andthey're your key to the stars. Yes, sir, Wayne said. So run along and make out, punk, grinned Captain Jack. <doc-sep>A copcar stopped Wayne as he started over the bridge, out of brightrespectable neon into the murky westside slum over the river. Wayne waved the pass card, signed by Captain Jack, under the cop'squivering nose. The cop shivered and stepped back and waved him on. TheOlds roared over the bridge as the night's rain blew away. The air through the open window was chill and damp coming fromSlumville, but Wayne felt a cold that wasn't of the night or the wind.He turned off into a rat's warren of the inferiors. Lights turned pale,secretive and sparse, the uncared-for streets became rough with pittedpotholes, narrow and winding and humid with wet unpleasant smells.Wayne's fearful exhilaration increased as he cruised with bated breaththrough the dark mazes of streets and rickety tenements crawling withthe shadows of mysterious promise. He found the alley, dark, a gloom-dripping tunnel. He drove cautiouslyinto it and rolled along, watching. His belly ached with expectancy ashe spotted the sick-looking dab of neon wanly sparkling. FOUR ACES CLUB He parked across the alley. He got out and stood in shadows, diggingthe sultry beat of a combo, the wild pulse of drums and spinning brassfiltering through windows painted black. He breathed deep, started over, ducked back. A stewbum weaved out ofa bank of garbage cans, humming to himself, pulling at a rainsoakedshirt clinging to a pale stick body. He reminded Wayne of a slim grubbalanced on one end. The stewbum stumbled. His bearded face in dim breaking moonlight hada dirty, greenish tinge as he sensed Wayne there. He turned in agrotesque uncoordinated jiggling and his eyes were wide with terror anddoom. I gotta hide, kid. They're on me. Wayne's chest rose and his hands curled. The bum's fingers drew at the air like white talons. Help me, kid. He turned with a scratchy cry and retreated before the sudden blastof headlights from a Cad bulleting into the alley. The Cad rushedpast Wayne and he felt the engine-hot fumes against his legs. Tiressquealed. The Cad stopped and a teener in black jacket jumped out andcrouched as he began stalking the old rummy. This is him! This is him all right, the teener yelled, and one handcame up swinging a baseball bat. A head bobbed out of the Cad window and giggled. The fumble-footed rummy tried to run and plopped on wet pavement. Theteener moved in, while a faint odor of burnt rubber hovered in the airas the Cad cruised in a slow follow-up. Wayne's breath quickened as he watched, feeling somehow blank wonderat finding himself there, free and breaking out at last with no curfewand no law but his own. He felt as though he couldn't stop anything.Living seemed directionless, but he still would go with it regardless,until something dropped off or blew to hell like a hot light-bulb. Heheld his breath, waiting. His body was tensed and rigid as he moved inspirit with the hunting teener, an omniscient shadow with a huntinglicense and a ghetto jungle twenty miles deep. The crawling stewbum screamed as the baseball bat whacked. The teenerlaughed. Wayne wanted to shout. He opened his mouth, but the yellclogged up somewhere, so that he remained soundless yet with his mouthstill open as he heard the payoff thuds where the useless wino curledup with stick arms over his rheumy face. The teener laughed, tossed the bat away and began jumping up and downwith his hobnailed, mail-order air force boots. Then he ran into theCad. A hootch bottle soared out, made a brittle tink-tink of fallingglass. Go, man! The Cad wooshed by. It made a sort of hollow sucking noise as itbounced over the old man twice. Then the finlights diminished likebright wind-blown sparks. Wayne walked over and sneered down at the human garbage lying inscummed rain pools. The smell of raw violence, the scent of blood, madehis heart thump like a trapped rubber ball in a cage. He hurried into the Four Aces, drawn by an exhilarating vision ... andpursued by the hollow haunting fears of his own desires. <doc-sep>He walked through the wavering haze of smoke and liquored dizziness andstood until his eyes learned the dark. He spotted her red shirt andyellow legs over in the corner above a murky lighted table. He walked toward her, watching her little subhuman pixie face lift.The eyes widened with exciting terror, turned even paler behind a redslash of sensuous mouth. Briefed and waiting, primed and eager forrunning, she recognized her pursuer at once. He sat at a table nearher, watching and grinning and seeing her squirm. She sat in that slightly baffled, fearful and uncomprehending attitudeof being motionless, as though they were all actors performing in aweirdo drama being staged in that smoky thick-aired dive. Wayne smiled with wry superiority at the redheaded psycho in a dirtyT-shirt, a big bruiser with a gorilla face. He was tussling his mouseheavy. What's yours, teener? the slug-faced waiter asked. Bring me a Crusher, buddyroo, Wayne said, and flashed his pass card. Sure, teener. Red nuzzled the mouse's neck and made drooly noises. Wayne watched andfed on the promising terror and helplessness of her hunted face. Shesat rigid, eyes fixed on Wayne like balls of frozen glass. Red looked up and stared straight at Wayne with eyes like black buttonsimbedded in the waxlike skin of his face. Then he grinned all on oneside. One huge hand scratched across the wet table top like a furiouscat's. Wayne returned the challenging move but felt a nervous twitch jerk athis lips. A numbness covered his brain like a film as he concentratedon staring down Red the psycho. But Red kept looking, his eyes brightbut dead. Then he began struggling it up again with the scared littlemouse. The waiter sat the Crusher down. Wayne signed a chit; tonight he was inthe pay of the state. What else, teener? One thing. Fade. Sure, teener, the waiter said, his breathy words dripping like syrup. Wayne drank. Liquored heat dripped into his stomach. Fire tickled hisveins, became hot wire twisting in his head. He drank again and forced out a shaky breath. The jazz beat thumpedfast and muted brass moaned. Drumpulse, stabbing trumpet raped theair. Tension mounted as Wayne watched her pale throat convulsing, thewhite eyelids fluttering. Red fingered at her legs and salivated at herthroat, glancing now and then at Wayne, baiting him good. Okay, you creep, Wayne said. He stood up and started through the haze. The psycho leaped and a tablecrashed. Wayne's .38 dropped from its spring-clip holster and the blastfilled the room. The psycho screamed and stumbled toward the doorholding something in. The mouse darted by, eluded Wayne's grasp and wasout the door. Wayne went out after her in a laughing frenzy of release. He felt thecold strange breath of moist air on his sweating skin as he sprinteddown the alley into a wind full of blowing wet. He ran laughing under the crazy starlight and glimpsed her now andthen, fading in and out of shadows, jumping, crawling, running with thelife-or-death animation of a wild deer. Up and down alleys, a rat's maze. A rabbit run. Across vacant lots.Through shattered tenement ruins. Over a fence. There she was, falling,sliding down a brick shute. He gained. He moved up. His labored breath pumped more fire. And herscream was a rejuvenation hypo in his blood. <doc-sep>She quivered above him on the stoop, panting, her eyes afire withterror. You, baby, Wayne gasped. I gotcha. She backed into darkness, up there against the sagging tenement wall,her arms out and poised like crippled wings. Wayne crept up. She gavea squeaking sob, turned, ran. Wayne leaped into gloom. Wood cracked.He clambered over rotten lumber. The doorway sagged and he hesitatedin the musty dark. A few feet away was the sound of loose tricklingplaster, a whimpering whine. No use running, Wayne said. Go loose. Give, baby. Give now. She scurried up sagging stairs. Wayne laughed and dug up after her,feeling his way through debris. Dim moonlight filtered through asagging stairway from a shattered skylight three floors up. The mouse'sshadow floated ahead. He started up. The entire stair structure canted sickeningly. A railingripped and he nearly went with it back down to the first floor. Heheard a scream as rotten boards crumbled and dust exploded fromcracks. A rat ran past Wayne and fell into space. He burst into thethird-floor hallway and saw her half-falling through a door under thejagged skylight. Wayne took his time. He knew how she felt waiting in there, listeningto his creeping, implacable footfalls. Then he yelled and slammed open the door. Dust and stench, filth so awful it made nothing of the dust. Inthe corner he saw something hardly to be called a bed. More likea nest. A dirty, lumpy pile of torn mattress, felt, excelsior,shredded newspapers and rags. It seemed to crawl a little under themoon-streaming skylight. She crouched in the corner panting. He took his time moving in. Hesnickered as he flashed the switchblade and circled it like a serpent'stongue. He watched what was left of her nerves go to pieces like rottencloth. Do it quick, hunter, she whispered. Please do it quick. What's that, baby? I'm tired running. Kill me first. Beat me after. They won't know thedifference. I'm gonna bruise and beat you, he said. Kill me first, she begged. I don't want— She began to cry. Shecried right up in his face, her wide eyes unblinking, and her mouthopen. You got bad blood, baby, he snarled. He laughed but it didn't soundlike him and something was wrong with his belly. It was knotting up. Bad, I know! So get it over with, please. Hurry, hurry. She was small and white and quivering. She moaned but kept staring upat him. He ripped off his rivet-studded belt and swung once, then groaned andshuffled away from her. He kept backing toward the door. She crawled after him, begging andclutching with both arms as she wriggled forward on her knees. Don't run. Please. Kill me! It'll be someone else if you don't. Oh,God, I'm so tired waiting and running! I can't, he said, and sickness soured in his throat. Please. I can't, I can't! He turned and ran blindly, half-fell down the cracking stairs. <doc-sep>Doctor Burns, head of the readjustment staff at the Youth Center,studied Wayne with abstract interest. You enjoyed the hunt, Seton? You got your kicks? Yes, sir. But you couldn't execute them? No, sir. They're undesirables. Incurables. You know that, Seton? Yes, sir. The psycho you only wounded. He's a five-times murderer. And that girlkilled her father when she was twelve. You realize there's nothing canbe done for them? That they have to be executed? I know. Too bad, the doctor said. We all have aggressive impulses, primitiveneeds that must be expressed early, purged. There's murder in allof us, Seton. The impulse shouldn't be denied or suppressed, but educated . The state used to kill them. Isn't it better all around,Seton, for us to do it, as part of growing up? What was the matter,Seton? I—felt sorry for her. Is that all you can say about it? Yes, sir. The doctor pressed a buzzer. Two men in white coats entered. You should have got it out of your system, Seton, but now it's stillin there. I can't turn you out and have it erupt later—and maybe shedclean innocent blood, can I? No, sir, Wayne mumbled. He didn't look up. I'm sorry I punked out. Give him the treatment, the doctor said wearily. And send him backto his mother. Wayne nodded and they led him away. His mind screamed still to splitopen some prison of bone and lay bare and breathing wide. But therewas no way out for the trapped. Now he knew about the old man and hispoker-playing pals. They had all punked out. Like him. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does this society seek to deal with violence?

The expository dialogue by Doctor Burns at the end of the story provides some insight into how this society views the tendency toward violence in its citizens and retributive criminal justice. The prevailing understanding is that adolescents (presumably adolescent men) are subjected to aggressive and violent impulses. The society seeks to provide these teens a preferred outlet for these impulses in the form of a violent act in service of the state. Typical this seems to be the execution of an undesirable member of society who is viewed as beyond redemption. This permitted brutality is thought to get it out of a teen’s system and prepare him for a life as a contributing member in the state’s military apparatus. The result of this situation is a dramatically violent society where untrained youths are recruited to act as vicious vigilantes who terrorize anyone labelled as undesirable.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> The Monster Maker By RAY BRADBURY Get Gunther, the official orders read. It was to laugh! For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Suddenly, it was there. There wasn't time to blink or speak or getscared. Click Hathaway's camera was loaded and he stood there listeningto it rack-spin film between his fingers, and he knew he was getting adamned sweet picture of everything that was happening. The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console,wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. And out in thedark of the fore-part there was space and a star-sprinkling and thismeteor coming like blazing fury. Click Hathaway felt the ship move under him like a sensitive animal'sskin. And then the meteor hit. It made a spiked fist and knocked therear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. There was plenty of noise. Too damned much. Hathaway only knew he waspicked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn'tlong in following, swearing loud words. Click remembered hanging on tohis camera and gritting to keep holding it. What a sweet shot that hadbeen of the meteor! A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out ofthe controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. It got quiet. It got so quiet you could almost hear the asteroidsrushing up, cold, blue and hard. You could hear your heart kicking atom-tom between your sick stomach and your empty lungs. Stars, asteroids revolved. Click grabbed Marnagan because he was thenearest thing, and held on. You came hunting for a space-raider and youended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk ofmetal death. What a fade-out! Irish! he heard himself say. Is this IT? Is this what ? yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!? Marnagan fumed. I'll die when I'm damned good and ready. And when I'mready I'll inform you and you can picture me profile for Cosmic Films! They both waited, thrust against the shipside and held by a hand ofgravity; listening to each other's breathing hard in the earphones. The ship struck, once. Bouncing, it struck again. It turned end overand stopped. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattledaround—human dice in a croupier's cup. The shell of the ship burst,air and energy flung out. Hathaway screamed the air out of his lungs, but his brain was thinkingquick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reachfilm, or an audience. Like this one, dammit! Like this one! Hisbrain spun, racketing like the instantaneous, flicking motions of hiscamera. <doc-sep>Silence came and engulfed all the noise, ate it up and swallowed it.Hathaway shook his head, instinctively grabbed at the camera lockedto his mid-belt. There was nothing but stars, twisted wreckage, coldthat pierced through his vac-suit, and silence. He wriggled out of thewreckage into that silence. He didn't know what he was doing until he found the camera in hisfingers as if it had grown there when he was born. He stood there,thinking Well, I'll at least have a few good scenes on film. I'll— A hunk of metal teetered, fell with a crash. Marnagan elevated sevenfeet of bellowing manhood from the wreck. Hold it! cracked Hathaway's high voice. Marnagan froze. The camerawhirred. Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathedfrom asteroid crackup. Swell stuff. I'll get a raise for this! From the toe of me boot! snarled Marnagan brusquely. Oxen shouldersflexed inside his vac-suit. I might've died in there, and you nursin'that film-contraption! Hathaway felt funny inside, suddenly. I never thought of that.Marnagan die? I just took it for granted you'd come through. You alwayshave. Funny, but you don't think about dying. You try not to. Hathawaystared at his gloved hand, but the gloving was so thick and heavy hecouldn't tell if it was shaking. Muscles in his bony face went down,pale. Where are we? A million miles from nobody. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain thatstretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars.Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it looksick. If we walk in opposite directions, Click Hathaway, we'd be shakinghands the other side of this rock in two hours. Marnagan shook his mopof dusty red hair. And I promised the boys at Luna Base this time I'dcapture that Gunther lad! His voice stopped and the silence spoke. Hathaway felt his heart pumping slow, hot pumps of blood. I checkedmy oxygen, Irish. Sixty minutes of breathing left. The silence punctuated that sentence, too. Upon the sharp meteoricrocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supplymashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or was suffocation a better death...? Sixty minutes. They stood and looked at one another. Damn that meteor! said Marnagan, hotly. Hathaway got hold of an idea; remembering something. He said it out:Somebody tossed that meteor, Irish. I took a picture of it, lookedit right in the eye when it rolled at us, and it was poker-hot.Space-meteors are never hot and glowing. If it's proof you want, I'vegot it here, on film. Marnagan winced his freckled square of face. It's not proof we neednow, Click. Oxygen. And then food . And then some way back to Earth. Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: This is Gunther's work. He'shere somewhere, probably laughing his guts out at the job he did us.Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get backto Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a piratewhose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally winsthrough to a triumphant finish. Photographed on the spot, in color, byyours truly, Click Hathaway. Cosmic Films, please notice. <doc-sep>They started walking, fast, over the pocked, rubbled plain toward abony ridge of metal. They kept their eyes wide and awake. There wasn'tmuch to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. Marnagan said, We're working on margin, and we got nothin' to sweatwith except your suspicions about this not being an accident. We gotfifty minutes to prove you're right. After that—right or wrong—you'llbe Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. But talk allyou like, Click. It's times like this when we all need words, anywords, on our tongues. You got your camera and your scoop. Talk aboutit. As for me— he twisted his glossy red face. Keeping alive is mehobby. And this sort of two-bit death I did not order. Click nodded. Gunther knows how you'd hate dying this way, Irish.It's irony clean through. That's probably why he planned the meteor andthe crash this way. Marnagan said nothing, but his thick lips went down at the corners, fardown, and the green eyes blazed. They stopped, together. Oops! Click said. Hey! Marnagan blinked. Did you feel that ? Hathaway's body felt feathery, light as a whisper, boneless andlimbless, suddenly. Irish! We lost weight, coming over that ridge! They ran back. Let's try it again. They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened.Gravity should not act this way, Click. Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! Nowonder we fell so fast—we were dragged down by a super-gravity set-up!Gunther'd do anything to—did I say anything ? Hathaway leaped backward in reaction. His eyes widened and his handcame up, jabbing. Over a hill-ridge swarmed a brew of unbelievablehorrors. Progeny from Frankenstein's ARK. Immense crimson beasts withnumerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, sometubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing alongin the air. Fangs caught starlight white on them. Hathaway yelled and ran, Marnagan at his heels, lumbering. Sweat brokecold on his body. The immense things rolled, slithered and squirmedafter him. A blast of light. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun. Then, inClick's ears, the Irishman's incredulous bellow. The gun didn't hurtthe creatures at all. Irish! Hathaway flung himself over the ridge, slid down an inclinetoward the mouth a small cave. This way, fella! Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. They'retoo big; they can't get us in here! Click's voice gasped it out,as Marnagan squeezed his two-hundred-fifty pounds beside him.Instinctively, Hathaway added, Asteroid monsters! My camera! What ascene! Damn your damn camera! yelled Marnagan. They might come in! Use your gun. They got impervious hides. No use. Gahh! And that was a pretty chase,eh, Click? Yeah. Sure. You enjoyed it, every moment of it. I did that. Irish grinned, showing white uneven teeth. Now, whatwill we be doing with these uninvited guests at our door? Let me think— Lots of time, little man. Forty more minutes of air, to be exact. <doc-sep>They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway feltfunny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monstersand Gunther and— Which one will you be having? asked Irish, casually. A red one or ablue one? Hathaway laughed nervously. A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,now you've got me doing it. Joking in the face of death. Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck. That didn't please the photographer. I'm an Anglo-Swede, he pointedout. Marnagan shifted uneasily. Here, now. You're doing nothing butsitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so takeme a profile shot of the beasties and myself. Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. What in hell's the use? Allthis swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it. Then, retorted Marnagan, we'll develop it for our own benefit; whilewaitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to ourrescue! Hathaway snorted. U.S. Cavalry. Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. Snap me this pose, hesaid. I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peacenegotiations betwixt me and these pixies. Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaverfor nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking runningaround in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, buthis mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture ofMarnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals. Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smilingfor the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, withoutmuch effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing deathwall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not sayinganything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and theyhad sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts. When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used itup arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we feltback on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Spacewar isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectoryis lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, whichdispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikesunseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces. Marnagan rumbled. Where is the dirty son, then! He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them. Hathaway nodded atthe beasts. People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or fromwounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animalstend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtlehis attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if thePatrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,then. I don't see no Base around. <doc-sep>Click shrugged. Still doubt it? Okay. Look. He tapped his camera anda spool popped out onto his gloved palm. Holding it up, he strippedit out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while itdeveloped, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developingfilm. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical,leaving imprints; the second exposure simply hardened, secured theimpressions. Quick stuff. Inserting the film-tongue into a micro-viewer in the camera's base,Click handed the whole thing over. Look. Marnagan put the viewer up against the helmet glass, squinted. Ah,Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented. Huh? It's a strange process'll develop my picture and ignore the asteroidmonsters complete. What! Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again:Pictures in montage; Marnagan sitting down, chatting conversationallywith nothing ; Marnagan shooting his gun at nothing ; Marnaganpretending to be happy in front of nothing . Then, closeup—of—NOTHING! The monsters had failed to image the film. Marnagan was there, his hairlike a red banner, his freckled face with the blue eyes bright in it.Maybe— Hathaway said it, loud: Irish! Irish! I think I see a way out of thismess! Here— He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film,the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said themonsters weren't there, they weren't there. Yeah, said Marnagan. But step outside this cave— If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid, said Click. Marnagan scowled. You sure them beasts don't radiate ultra-violet orinfra-red or something that won't come out on film? Nuts! Any color we see, the camera sees. We've been fooled. Hey, where you going? Marnagan blocked Hathaway as the smaller mantried pushing past him. Get out of the way, said Hathaway. Marnagan put his big fists on his hips. If anyone is going anywhere,it'll be me does the going. I can't let you do that, Irish. Why not? You'd be going on my say-so. Ain't your say-so good enough for me? Yes. Sure. Of course. I guess— If you say them animals ain't there, that's all I need. Now, standaside, you film-developing flea, and let an Irishman settle theirbones. He took an unnecessary hitch in trousers that didn't existexcept under an inch of porous metal plate. Your express purpose onthis voyage, Hathaway, is taking films to be used by the Patrol laterfor teaching Junior Patrolmen how to act in tough spots. First-handeducation. Poke another spool of film in that contraption and give meprofile a scan. This is lesson number seven: Daniel Walks Into TheLion's Den. Irish, I— Shut up and load up. Hathaway nervously loaded the film-slot, raised it. Ready, Click? I—I guess so, said Hathaway. And remember, think it hard, Irish.Think it hard. There aren't any animals— Keep me in focus, lad. All the way, Irish. What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera! Marnagan held his gun out in front of him and still smiling took one,two, three, four steps out into the outside world. The monsters werewaiting for him at the fifth step. Marnagan kept walking. Right out into the middle of them.... <doc-sep>That was the sweetest shot Hathaway ever took. Marnagan and themonsters! Only now it was only Marnagan. No more monsters. Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. Hey, Click, lookat me! I'm in one piece. Why, hell, the damned things turned tail andran away! Ran, hell! cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed andanimated. They just plain vanished. They were only imaginativefigments! And to think we let them hole us in that way, Click Hathaway, youcoward! Smile when you say that, Irish. Sure, and ain't I always smilin'? Ah, Click boy, are them tears inyour sweet grey eyes? Damn, swore the photographer, embarrassedly. Why don't they putwindow-wipers in these helmets? I'll take it up with the Board, lad. Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in onehunk, I couldn't help—Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are partof his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased backinto their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothingsuspicious about animals. And if the tourists don't leave, the animalskill them. Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill. Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they couldhave frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. Ifthat isn't being dangerous— The Irishman whistled. But, we've got to move , Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen.In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source,Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters. Clickattached his camera to his mid-belt. Gunther probably thinks we'redead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates; they neverhad a chance to disbelieve them. If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click— Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident— Clickstopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head andfelt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steadyhimself, and swayed. I—I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours.This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick. Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. Hold tight, Click. Theguy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach. Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animalscame from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to comeback! Come back? How? They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if webelieve in them again, they'll return. Marnagan didn't like it. Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—ifwe believe in 'em? Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. Not if we believein them to a certain point . Psychologically they can both be seen andfelt. We only want to see them coming at us again. Do we, now? With twenty minutes left, maybe less— All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it? Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. Just think—I will seethe monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them.Think it over and over. Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. And—what if I forget to rememberall that? What if I get excited...? Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking atIrish. Marnagan cursed. All right, lad. Let's have at it! The monsters returned. <doc-sep>A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarmingin malevolent anticipation about the two men. This way, Irish. They come from this way! There's a focal point, asending station for these telepathic brutes. Come on! Hathaway sludged into the pressing tide of color, mouths, contortedfaces, silvery fat bodies misting as he plowed through them. Marnagan was making good progress ahead of Hathaway. But he stopped andraised his gun and made quick moves with it. Click! This one here!It's real! He fell back and something struck him down. His immenseframe slammed against rock, noiselessly. Hathaway darted forward, flung his body over Marnagan's, covered thehelmet glass with his hands, shouting: Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real—don't let it force intoyour mind! It's not real, I tell you! Click— Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass.Click— He was fighting hard. I—I—sure now. Sure— He smiled.It—it's only a shanty fake! Keep saying it, Irish. Keep it up. Marnagan's thick lips opened. It's only a fake, he said. And then,irritated, Get the hell off me, Hathaway. Let me up to my feet! Hathaway got up, shakily. The air in his helmet smelled stale, andlittle bubbles danced in his eyes. Irish, you forget the monsters.Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you mightforget. Marnagan showed his teeth. Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? Andbesides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty. The outpour of animals came from a low lying mound a mile farther on.Evidently the telepathic source lay there. They approached it warily. We'll be taking our chances on guard, hissed Irish. I'll go ahead,draw their attention, maybe get captured. Then, you show up with your gun.... I haven't got one. We'll chance it, then. You stick here until I see what's ahead. Theyprobably got scanners out. Let them see me— And before Hathaway could object, Marnagan walked off. He walked aboutfive hundred yards, bent down, applied his fingers to something, heavedup, and there was a door opening in the rock. His voice came back across the distance, into Click's earphones. Adoor, an air-lock, Click. A tunnel leading down inside! Then, Marnagan dropped into the tunnel, disappearing. Click heard thethud of his feet hitting the metal flooring. Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast. All right, put 'em up! a new harsh voice cried over a differentradio. One of Gunther's guards. Three shots sizzled out, and Marnagan bellowed. The strange harsh voice said, That's better. Don't try and pick thatgun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off.How'd you get past the animals? Click started running. He switched off his sending audio, kept his receiving on. Marnagan, weaponless. One guard. Click gasped. Thingswere getting dark. Had to have air. Air. Air. He ran and kept runningand listening to Marnagan's lying voice: I tied them pink elephants of Gunther's in neat alphabetical bundlesand stacked them up to dry, ya louse! Marnagan said. But, damn you,they killed my partner before he had a chance! The guard laughed. <doc-sep>The air-lock door was still wide open when Click reached it, his headswimming darkly, his lungs crammed with pain-fire and hell-rockets. Helet himself down in, quiet and soft. He didn't have a weapon. He didn'thave a weapon. Oh, damn, damn! A tunnel curved, ending in light, and two men silhouetted in thatyellow glare. Marnagan, backed against a wall, his helmet cracked,air hissing slowly out of it, his face turning blue. And the guard, aproton gun extended stiffly before him, also in a vac-suit. The guardhad his profile toward Hathaway, his lips twisting: I think I'll letyou stand right there and die, he said quietly. That what Guntherwanted, anway. A nice sordid death. Hathaway took three strides, his hands out in front of him. Don't move! he snapped. I've got a weapon stronger than yours. Onetwitch and I'll blast you and the whole damned wall out from behindyou! Freeze! The guard whirled. He widened his sharp eyes, and reluctantly, droppedhis gun to the floor. Get his gun, Irish. Marnagan made as if to move, crumpled clumsily forward. Hathaway ran in, snatched up the gun, smirked at the guard. Thanks forposing, he said. That shot will go down in film history for candidacting. What! Ah: ah! Keep your place. I've got a real gun now. Where's the doorleading into the Base? The guard moved his head sullenly over his left shoulder. Click was afraid he would show his weak dizziness. He needed air.Okay. Drag Marnagan with you, open the door and we'll have air. Doubletime! Double! Ten minutes later, Marnagan and Hathaway, fresh tanks of oxygen ontheir backs, Marnagan in a fresh bulger and helmet, trussed the guard,hid him in a huge trash receptacle. Where he belongs, observed Irishtersely. They found themselves in a complete inner world; an asteroid nothingmore than a honey-comb fortress sliding through the void unchallenged.Perfect front for a raider who had little equipment and wasshort-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships torocket by, pulled them or knocked them down and swarmed over them forcargo. The animals served simply to insure against suspicion and theswarms of tourists that filled the void these days. Small fry weren'twanted. They were scared off. The telepathic sending station for the animals was a great bank ofintricate, glittering machine, through which strips of colored filmwith images slid into slots and machine mouths that translated theminto thought-emanations. A damned neat piece of genius. So here we are, still not much better off than we were, growledIrish. We haven't a ship or a space-radio, and more guards'll turnup any moment. You think we could refocus this doohingey, project themonsters inside the asteroid to fool the pirates themselves? What good would that do? Hathaway gnawed his lip. They wouldn't foolthe engineers who created them, you nut. Marnagan exhaled disgustedly. Ah, if only the U.S. Cavalry would comeriding over the hill— <doc-sep>Irish! Hathaway snapped that, his face lighting up. Irish. The U.S.Cavalry it is! His eyes darted over the machines. Here. Help me.We'll stage everything on the most colossal raid of the century. Marnagan winced. You breathing oxygen or whiskey? There's only one stipulation I make, Irish. I want a complete pictureof Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's facewhen you do it. Snap it, now, we've got rush work to do. How good anactor are you? That's a silly question. You only have to do three things. Walk with your gun out in front ofyou, firing. That's number one. Number two is to clutch at your heartand fall down dead. Number three is to clutch at your side, fall downand twitch on the ground. Is that clear? Clear as the Coal Sack Nebula.... An hour later Hathaway trudged down a passageway that led out into asort of city street inside the asteroid. There were about six streets,lined with cube houses in yellow metal, ending near Hathaway in awide, green-lawned Plaza. Hathaway, weaponless, idly carrying his camera in one hand, walkedacross the Plaza as if he owned it. He was heading for a building thatwas pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters. He got halfway there when he felt a gun in his back. He didn't resist. They took him straight ahead to his destination andpushed him into a room where Gunther sat. Hathaway looked at him. So you're Gunther? he said, calmly. Thepirate was incredibly old, his bulging forehead stood out over sunken,questioningly dark eyes, and his scrawny body was lost in folds ofmetal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before hecould speak, Hathaway said: Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now andwe're capturing your Base. Don't try to fight. We've a thousand menagainst your eighty-five. Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin handstwitched in his lap. You are bluffing, he said, finally, with a firmdirectness. A ship hasn't landed here for an hour. Your ship was thelast. Two people were on it. The last I saw of them they were beingpursued to the death by the Beasts. One of you escaped, it seemed. Both. The other guy went after the Patrol. Impossible! I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther. A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, loungingon carved benches during their time-off, stirred to their feet andstarted yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one sideof his office. He stared, hard. The Patrol was coming! Across the Plaza, marching quietly and decisively, came the Patrol.Five hundred Patrolmen in one long, incredible line, carrying paralysisguns with them in their tight hands. Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air.Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered! Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathawayhad to credit them on that. They took it, standing. Hathaway chuckled inside, deep. What a sweet, sweet shot this was.His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped himfrom filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther wasthrowing a fit, still seated at his desk, unable to move because of hisfragile, bony legs and their atrophied state. Some of the Patrol were killed. Hathaway chuckled again as he saw threeof the Patrolmen clutch at their hearts, crumple, lie on the ground andtwitch. God, what photography! Gunther raged, and swept a small pistol from his linked corselet. Hefired wildly until Hathaway hit him over the head with a paper-weight.Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaostaking place immediately outside his window. The pirates broke and fled, those that were left. A mere handful. Andout of the chaos came Marnagan's voice, Here! <doc-sep>One of the Patrolmen stopped firing, and ran toward Click and theBuilding. He got inside. Did you see them run, Click boy? What anidea. How did we do? Fine, Irish. Fine! So here's Gunther, the spalpeen! Gunther, the little dried up pirate,eh? Marnagan whacked Hathaway on the back. I'll have to hand it toyou, this is the best plan o' battle ever laid out. And proud I was tofight with such splendid men as these— He gestured toward the Plaza. Click laughed with him. You should be proud. Five hundred Patrolmenwith hair like red banners flying, with thick Irish brogues and broadshoulders and freckles and blue eyes and a body as tall as yourstories! Marnagan roared. I always said, I said—if ever there could be anarmy of Marnagans, we could lick the whole damn uneeverse! Did youphotograph it, Click? I did. Hathaway tapped his camera happily. Ah, then, won't that be a scoop for you, boy? Money from the Patrol sothey can use the film as instruction in Classes and money from CosmicFilms for the news-reel headlines! And what a scene, and what acting!Five hundred duplicates of Steve Marnagan, broadcast telepathicallyinto the minds of the pirates, walking across a Plaza, capturing thewhole she-bang! How did you like my death-scenes? You're a ham. And anyway—five hundred duplicates, nothing! saidClick. He ripped the film-spool from the camera, spread it in the airto develop, inserted it in the micro-viewer. Have a look— Marnagan looked. Ah, now. Ah, now, he said over and over. There'sthe Plaza, and there's Gunther's men fighting and then they're turningand running. And what are they running from? One man! Me. IrishMarnagan! Walking all by myself across the lawn, paralyzing them. Oneagainst a hundred, and the cowards running from me! Sure, Click, this is better than I thought. I forgot that the filmwouldn't register telepathic emanations, them other Marnagans. Itmakes it look like I'm a mighty brave man, does it not? It does. Ah,look—look at me, Hathaway, I'm enjoying every minute of it, I am. <doc-sep>Hathaway swatted him on his back-side. Look here, you egocentric sonof Erin, there's more work to be done. More pirates to be captured. ThePatrol is still marching around and someone might be suspicious if theylooked too close and saw all that red hair. All right, Click, we'll clean up the rest of them now. We're acombination, we two, we are. I take it all back about your pictures,Click, if you hadn't thought of taking pictures of me and insertingit into those telepath machines we'd be dead ducks now. Well—here Igo.... Hathaway stopped him. Hold it. Until I load my camera again. Irish grinned. Hurry it up. Here come three guards. They're unarmed.I think I'll handle them with me fists for a change. The gentle art ofuppercuts. Are you ready, Hathaway? Ready. Marnagan lifted his big ham-fists. The camera whirred. Hathaway chuckled, to himself. What a sweet fade-out this was! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

“Click” Hathaway, a photographer, is on a spaceship with “Irish” Marnagan, the ship’s pilot, as the ship is hit by a meteor and crashesAfter the crash, Hathaway jokes about getting a shot of Marnagan emerging from the wreckage, which Marnagan takes offense to, pointing out he could have been dead; Hathaway says he took it for granted that Marnagan would survive. Marnagan states that they could walk the entire diameter of the planet they are on in four hours, but Hathaway points out that he has only an hour of oxygen. Hathaway states that he has photo evidence that the meteor that hit their ship was thrown at them, probably by Gunther, the person Marnagan is trying to capture, but Marnagan redirects their priorities to oxygen, food, and a way back to earth.As they walk in search of help, they notice that there is human-made gravity on the planet. Immediately after making that discovery, they encounter an enormous herd of dangerous beasts. When Marnagan discovers his gun is ineffective as a weapon, they flee to a nearby cave for protection, as the cave is too small for the beasts to enter.Marnagan asks Hathaway to take a picture of him with the beasts. Hathaway snaps several pictures of Marnagan posing at a safe distance. Hathaway then says that between the “natural” meteors, gravity, and beasts, their crash will look accidental rather than like murder. He shows Marnagan the pictures he shot, intending to use the beasts as part of his argument, but Marnagan protests that his film is “lousy” as only Marnagan, appears in the shots and not the beasts. When Hathaway confirms this is so, he is insistent that the film cannot lie. If the beasts do not appear in the photos, they don’t exist.When they emerge from the cave and the animals are gone, the men are at first elated. Hathaway quickly realizes, though, that with their oxygen running low and limiting the time they have to find Gunther’s base and fresh oxygen, they must get the beasts to return so that they can follow the beasts to their source--Gunther’s base.The men concentrate on the beasts and the beasts reappear; Hathaway and Marnagan locate a source point and head toward it. Marnagan believes he is being attacked by a beast, but when Hathaway reminds him the monsters are fake, Marnagan is able to resist the telepathic message. Marnagan enters the cave where it appears the animals are coming from and finds an air-lock door and a tunnel before he is captured by a guard. He tells the guard his partner is dead.Hathaway creeps in through the air-lock door to see Marnagan held at gunpoint. Hathaway fools the guard into believing he is armed, takes his gun, and gets the guard to guide him and Marnagan to oxygen. They then use photos of Marnagan, inserted in the telepath machines, to take over Gunther’s fortress and capture him. The story ends with Hathaway taking a triumphant posed picture of Marnagan.

What is the significance of Hathaway’s profession in the story? [SEP] <s> The Monster Maker By RAY BRADBURY Get Gunther, the official orders read. It was to laugh! For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Suddenly, it was there. There wasn't time to blink or speak or getscared. Click Hathaway's camera was loaded and he stood there listeningto it rack-spin film between his fingers, and he knew he was getting adamned sweet picture of everything that was happening. The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console,wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. And out in thedark of the fore-part there was space and a star-sprinkling and thismeteor coming like blazing fury. Click Hathaway felt the ship move under him like a sensitive animal'sskin. And then the meteor hit. It made a spiked fist and knocked therear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. There was plenty of noise. Too damned much. Hathaway only knew he waspicked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn'tlong in following, swearing loud words. Click remembered hanging on tohis camera and gritting to keep holding it. What a sweet shot that hadbeen of the meteor! A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out ofthe controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. It got quiet. It got so quiet you could almost hear the asteroidsrushing up, cold, blue and hard. You could hear your heart kicking atom-tom between your sick stomach and your empty lungs. Stars, asteroids revolved. Click grabbed Marnagan because he was thenearest thing, and held on. You came hunting for a space-raider and youended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk ofmetal death. What a fade-out! Irish! he heard himself say. Is this IT? Is this what ? yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!? Marnagan fumed. I'll die when I'm damned good and ready. And when I'mready I'll inform you and you can picture me profile for Cosmic Films! They both waited, thrust against the shipside and held by a hand ofgravity; listening to each other's breathing hard in the earphones. The ship struck, once. Bouncing, it struck again. It turned end overand stopped. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattledaround—human dice in a croupier's cup. The shell of the ship burst,air and energy flung out. Hathaway screamed the air out of his lungs, but his brain was thinkingquick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reachfilm, or an audience. Like this one, dammit! Like this one! Hisbrain spun, racketing like the instantaneous, flicking motions of hiscamera. <doc-sep>Silence came and engulfed all the noise, ate it up and swallowed it.Hathaway shook his head, instinctively grabbed at the camera lockedto his mid-belt. There was nothing but stars, twisted wreckage, coldthat pierced through his vac-suit, and silence. He wriggled out of thewreckage into that silence. He didn't know what he was doing until he found the camera in hisfingers as if it had grown there when he was born. He stood there,thinking Well, I'll at least have a few good scenes on film. I'll— A hunk of metal teetered, fell with a crash. Marnagan elevated sevenfeet of bellowing manhood from the wreck. Hold it! cracked Hathaway's high voice. Marnagan froze. The camerawhirred. Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathedfrom asteroid crackup. Swell stuff. I'll get a raise for this! From the toe of me boot! snarled Marnagan brusquely. Oxen shouldersflexed inside his vac-suit. I might've died in there, and you nursin'that film-contraption! Hathaway felt funny inside, suddenly. I never thought of that.Marnagan die? I just took it for granted you'd come through. You alwayshave. Funny, but you don't think about dying. You try not to. Hathawaystared at his gloved hand, but the gloving was so thick and heavy hecouldn't tell if it was shaking. Muscles in his bony face went down,pale. Where are we? A million miles from nobody. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain thatstretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars.Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it looksick. If we walk in opposite directions, Click Hathaway, we'd be shakinghands the other side of this rock in two hours. Marnagan shook his mopof dusty red hair. And I promised the boys at Luna Base this time I'dcapture that Gunther lad! His voice stopped and the silence spoke. Hathaway felt his heart pumping slow, hot pumps of blood. I checkedmy oxygen, Irish. Sixty minutes of breathing left. The silence punctuated that sentence, too. Upon the sharp meteoricrocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supplymashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or was suffocation a better death...? Sixty minutes. They stood and looked at one another. Damn that meteor! said Marnagan, hotly. Hathaway got hold of an idea; remembering something. He said it out:Somebody tossed that meteor, Irish. I took a picture of it, lookedit right in the eye when it rolled at us, and it was poker-hot.Space-meteors are never hot and glowing. If it's proof you want, I'vegot it here, on film. Marnagan winced his freckled square of face. It's not proof we neednow, Click. Oxygen. And then food . And then some way back to Earth. Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: This is Gunther's work. He'shere somewhere, probably laughing his guts out at the job he did us.Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get backto Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a piratewhose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally winsthrough to a triumphant finish. Photographed on the spot, in color, byyours truly, Click Hathaway. Cosmic Films, please notice. <doc-sep>They started walking, fast, over the pocked, rubbled plain toward abony ridge of metal. They kept their eyes wide and awake. There wasn'tmuch to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. Marnagan said, We're working on margin, and we got nothin' to sweatwith except your suspicions about this not being an accident. We gotfifty minutes to prove you're right. After that—right or wrong—you'llbe Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. But talk allyou like, Click. It's times like this when we all need words, anywords, on our tongues. You got your camera and your scoop. Talk aboutit. As for me— he twisted his glossy red face. Keeping alive is mehobby. And this sort of two-bit death I did not order. Click nodded. Gunther knows how you'd hate dying this way, Irish.It's irony clean through. That's probably why he planned the meteor andthe crash this way. Marnagan said nothing, but his thick lips went down at the corners, fardown, and the green eyes blazed. They stopped, together. Oops! Click said. Hey! Marnagan blinked. Did you feel that ? Hathaway's body felt feathery, light as a whisper, boneless andlimbless, suddenly. Irish! We lost weight, coming over that ridge! They ran back. Let's try it again. They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened.Gravity should not act this way, Click. Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! Nowonder we fell so fast—we were dragged down by a super-gravity set-up!Gunther'd do anything to—did I say anything ? Hathaway leaped backward in reaction. His eyes widened and his handcame up, jabbing. Over a hill-ridge swarmed a brew of unbelievablehorrors. Progeny from Frankenstein's ARK. Immense crimson beasts withnumerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, sometubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing alongin the air. Fangs caught starlight white on them. Hathaway yelled and ran, Marnagan at his heels, lumbering. Sweat brokecold on his body. The immense things rolled, slithered and squirmedafter him. A blast of light. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun. Then, inClick's ears, the Irishman's incredulous bellow. The gun didn't hurtthe creatures at all. Irish! Hathaway flung himself over the ridge, slid down an inclinetoward the mouth a small cave. This way, fella! Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. They'retoo big; they can't get us in here! Click's voice gasped it out,as Marnagan squeezed his two-hundred-fifty pounds beside him.Instinctively, Hathaway added, Asteroid monsters! My camera! What ascene! Damn your damn camera! yelled Marnagan. They might come in! Use your gun. They got impervious hides. No use. Gahh! And that was a pretty chase,eh, Click? Yeah. Sure. You enjoyed it, every moment of it. I did that. Irish grinned, showing white uneven teeth. Now, whatwill we be doing with these uninvited guests at our door? Let me think— Lots of time, little man. Forty more minutes of air, to be exact. <doc-sep>They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway feltfunny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monstersand Gunther and— Which one will you be having? asked Irish, casually. A red one or ablue one? Hathaway laughed nervously. A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,now you've got me doing it. Joking in the face of death. Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck. That didn't please the photographer. I'm an Anglo-Swede, he pointedout. Marnagan shifted uneasily. Here, now. You're doing nothing butsitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so takeme a profile shot of the beasties and myself. Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. What in hell's the use? Allthis swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it. Then, retorted Marnagan, we'll develop it for our own benefit; whilewaitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to ourrescue! Hathaway snorted. U.S. Cavalry. Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. Snap me this pose, hesaid. I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peacenegotiations betwixt me and these pixies. Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaverfor nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking runningaround in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, buthis mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture ofMarnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals. Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smilingfor the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, withoutmuch effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing deathwall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not sayinganything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and theyhad sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts. When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used itup arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we feltback on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Spacewar isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectoryis lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, whichdispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikesunseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces. Marnagan rumbled. Where is the dirty son, then! He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them. Hathaway nodded atthe beasts. People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or fromwounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animalstend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtlehis attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if thePatrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,then. I don't see no Base around. <doc-sep>Click shrugged. Still doubt it? Okay. Look. He tapped his camera anda spool popped out onto his gloved palm. Holding it up, he strippedit out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while itdeveloped, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developingfilm. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical,leaving imprints; the second exposure simply hardened, secured theimpressions. Quick stuff. Inserting the film-tongue into a micro-viewer in the camera's base,Click handed the whole thing over. Look. Marnagan put the viewer up against the helmet glass, squinted. Ah,Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented. Huh? It's a strange process'll develop my picture and ignore the asteroidmonsters complete. What! Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again:Pictures in montage; Marnagan sitting down, chatting conversationallywith nothing ; Marnagan shooting his gun at nothing ; Marnaganpretending to be happy in front of nothing . Then, closeup—of—NOTHING! The monsters had failed to image the film. Marnagan was there, his hairlike a red banner, his freckled face with the blue eyes bright in it.Maybe— Hathaway said it, loud: Irish! Irish! I think I see a way out of thismess! Here— He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film,the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said themonsters weren't there, they weren't there. Yeah, said Marnagan. But step outside this cave— If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid, said Click. Marnagan scowled. You sure them beasts don't radiate ultra-violet orinfra-red or something that won't come out on film? Nuts! Any color we see, the camera sees. We've been fooled. Hey, where you going? Marnagan blocked Hathaway as the smaller mantried pushing past him. Get out of the way, said Hathaway. Marnagan put his big fists on his hips. If anyone is going anywhere,it'll be me does the going. I can't let you do that, Irish. Why not? You'd be going on my say-so. Ain't your say-so good enough for me? Yes. Sure. Of course. I guess— If you say them animals ain't there, that's all I need. Now, standaside, you film-developing flea, and let an Irishman settle theirbones. He took an unnecessary hitch in trousers that didn't existexcept under an inch of porous metal plate. Your express purpose onthis voyage, Hathaway, is taking films to be used by the Patrol laterfor teaching Junior Patrolmen how to act in tough spots. First-handeducation. Poke another spool of film in that contraption and give meprofile a scan. This is lesson number seven: Daniel Walks Into TheLion's Den. Irish, I— Shut up and load up. Hathaway nervously loaded the film-slot, raised it. Ready, Click? I—I guess so, said Hathaway. And remember, think it hard, Irish.Think it hard. There aren't any animals— Keep me in focus, lad. All the way, Irish. What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera! Marnagan held his gun out in front of him and still smiling took one,two, three, four steps out into the outside world. The monsters werewaiting for him at the fifth step. Marnagan kept walking. Right out into the middle of them.... <doc-sep>That was the sweetest shot Hathaway ever took. Marnagan and themonsters! Only now it was only Marnagan. No more monsters. Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. Hey, Click, lookat me! I'm in one piece. Why, hell, the damned things turned tail andran away! Ran, hell! cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed andanimated. They just plain vanished. They were only imaginativefigments! And to think we let them hole us in that way, Click Hathaway, youcoward! Smile when you say that, Irish. Sure, and ain't I always smilin'? Ah, Click boy, are them tears inyour sweet grey eyes? Damn, swore the photographer, embarrassedly. Why don't they putwindow-wipers in these helmets? I'll take it up with the Board, lad. Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in onehunk, I couldn't help—Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are partof his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased backinto their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothingsuspicious about animals. And if the tourists don't leave, the animalskill them. Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill. Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they couldhave frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. Ifthat isn't being dangerous— The Irishman whistled. But, we've got to move , Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen.In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source,Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters. Clickattached his camera to his mid-belt. Gunther probably thinks we'redead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates; they neverhad a chance to disbelieve them. If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click— Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident— Clickstopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head andfelt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steadyhimself, and swayed. I—I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours.This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick. Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. Hold tight, Click. Theguy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach. Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animalscame from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to comeback! Come back? How? They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if webelieve in them again, they'll return. Marnagan didn't like it. Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—ifwe believe in 'em? Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. Not if we believein them to a certain point . Psychologically they can both be seen andfelt. We only want to see them coming at us again. Do we, now? With twenty minutes left, maybe less— All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it? Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. Just think—I will seethe monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them.Think it over and over. Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. And—what if I forget to rememberall that? What if I get excited...? Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking atIrish. Marnagan cursed. All right, lad. Let's have at it! The monsters returned. <doc-sep>A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarmingin malevolent anticipation about the two men. This way, Irish. They come from this way! There's a focal point, asending station for these telepathic brutes. Come on! Hathaway sludged into the pressing tide of color, mouths, contortedfaces, silvery fat bodies misting as he plowed through them. Marnagan was making good progress ahead of Hathaway. But he stopped andraised his gun and made quick moves with it. Click! This one here!It's real! He fell back and something struck him down. His immenseframe slammed against rock, noiselessly. Hathaway darted forward, flung his body over Marnagan's, covered thehelmet glass with his hands, shouting: Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real—don't let it force intoyour mind! It's not real, I tell you! Click— Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass.Click— He was fighting hard. I—I—sure now. Sure— He smiled.It—it's only a shanty fake! Keep saying it, Irish. Keep it up. Marnagan's thick lips opened. It's only a fake, he said. And then,irritated, Get the hell off me, Hathaway. Let me up to my feet! Hathaway got up, shakily. The air in his helmet smelled stale, andlittle bubbles danced in his eyes. Irish, you forget the monsters.Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you mightforget. Marnagan showed his teeth. Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? Andbesides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty. The outpour of animals came from a low lying mound a mile farther on.Evidently the telepathic source lay there. They approached it warily. We'll be taking our chances on guard, hissed Irish. I'll go ahead,draw their attention, maybe get captured. Then, you show up with your gun.... I haven't got one. We'll chance it, then. You stick here until I see what's ahead. Theyprobably got scanners out. Let them see me— And before Hathaway could object, Marnagan walked off. He walked aboutfive hundred yards, bent down, applied his fingers to something, heavedup, and there was a door opening in the rock. His voice came back across the distance, into Click's earphones. Adoor, an air-lock, Click. A tunnel leading down inside! Then, Marnagan dropped into the tunnel, disappearing. Click heard thethud of his feet hitting the metal flooring. Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast. All right, put 'em up! a new harsh voice cried over a differentradio. One of Gunther's guards. Three shots sizzled out, and Marnagan bellowed. The strange harsh voice said, That's better. Don't try and pick thatgun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off.How'd you get past the animals? Click started running. He switched off his sending audio, kept his receiving on. Marnagan, weaponless. One guard. Click gasped. Thingswere getting dark. Had to have air. Air. Air. He ran and kept runningand listening to Marnagan's lying voice: I tied them pink elephants of Gunther's in neat alphabetical bundlesand stacked them up to dry, ya louse! Marnagan said. But, damn you,they killed my partner before he had a chance! The guard laughed. <doc-sep>The air-lock door was still wide open when Click reached it, his headswimming darkly, his lungs crammed with pain-fire and hell-rockets. Helet himself down in, quiet and soft. He didn't have a weapon. He didn'thave a weapon. Oh, damn, damn! A tunnel curved, ending in light, and two men silhouetted in thatyellow glare. Marnagan, backed against a wall, his helmet cracked,air hissing slowly out of it, his face turning blue. And the guard, aproton gun extended stiffly before him, also in a vac-suit. The guardhad his profile toward Hathaway, his lips twisting: I think I'll letyou stand right there and die, he said quietly. That what Guntherwanted, anway. A nice sordid death. Hathaway took three strides, his hands out in front of him. Don't move! he snapped. I've got a weapon stronger than yours. Onetwitch and I'll blast you and the whole damned wall out from behindyou! Freeze! The guard whirled. He widened his sharp eyes, and reluctantly, droppedhis gun to the floor. Get his gun, Irish. Marnagan made as if to move, crumpled clumsily forward. Hathaway ran in, snatched up the gun, smirked at the guard. Thanks forposing, he said. That shot will go down in film history for candidacting. What! Ah: ah! Keep your place. I've got a real gun now. Where's the doorleading into the Base? The guard moved his head sullenly over his left shoulder. Click was afraid he would show his weak dizziness. He needed air.Okay. Drag Marnagan with you, open the door and we'll have air. Doubletime! Double! Ten minutes later, Marnagan and Hathaway, fresh tanks of oxygen ontheir backs, Marnagan in a fresh bulger and helmet, trussed the guard,hid him in a huge trash receptacle. Where he belongs, observed Irishtersely. They found themselves in a complete inner world; an asteroid nothingmore than a honey-comb fortress sliding through the void unchallenged.Perfect front for a raider who had little equipment and wasshort-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships torocket by, pulled them or knocked them down and swarmed over them forcargo. The animals served simply to insure against suspicion and theswarms of tourists that filled the void these days. Small fry weren'twanted. They were scared off. The telepathic sending station for the animals was a great bank ofintricate, glittering machine, through which strips of colored filmwith images slid into slots and machine mouths that translated theminto thought-emanations. A damned neat piece of genius. So here we are, still not much better off than we were, growledIrish. We haven't a ship or a space-radio, and more guards'll turnup any moment. You think we could refocus this doohingey, project themonsters inside the asteroid to fool the pirates themselves? What good would that do? Hathaway gnawed his lip. They wouldn't foolthe engineers who created them, you nut. Marnagan exhaled disgustedly. Ah, if only the U.S. Cavalry would comeriding over the hill— <doc-sep>Irish! Hathaway snapped that, his face lighting up. Irish. The U.S.Cavalry it is! His eyes darted over the machines. Here. Help me.We'll stage everything on the most colossal raid of the century. Marnagan winced. You breathing oxygen or whiskey? There's only one stipulation I make, Irish. I want a complete pictureof Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's facewhen you do it. Snap it, now, we've got rush work to do. How good anactor are you? That's a silly question. You only have to do three things. Walk with your gun out in front ofyou, firing. That's number one. Number two is to clutch at your heartand fall down dead. Number three is to clutch at your side, fall downand twitch on the ground. Is that clear? Clear as the Coal Sack Nebula.... An hour later Hathaway trudged down a passageway that led out into asort of city street inside the asteroid. There were about six streets,lined with cube houses in yellow metal, ending near Hathaway in awide, green-lawned Plaza. Hathaway, weaponless, idly carrying his camera in one hand, walkedacross the Plaza as if he owned it. He was heading for a building thatwas pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters. He got halfway there when he felt a gun in his back. He didn't resist. They took him straight ahead to his destination andpushed him into a room where Gunther sat. Hathaway looked at him. So you're Gunther? he said, calmly. Thepirate was incredibly old, his bulging forehead stood out over sunken,questioningly dark eyes, and his scrawny body was lost in folds ofmetal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before hecould speak, Hathaway said: Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now andwe're capturing your Base. Don't try to fight. We've a thousand menagainst your eighty-five. Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin handstwitched in his lap. You are bluffing, he said, finally, with a firmdirectness. A ship hasn't landed here for an hour. Your ship was thelast. Two people were on it. The last I saw of them they were beingpursued to the death by the Beasts. One of you escaped, it seemed. Both. The other guy went after the Patrol. Impossible! I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther. A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, loungingon carved benches during their time-off, stirred to their feet andstarted yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one sideof his office. He stared, hard. The Patrol was coming! Across the Plaza, marching quietly and decisively, came the Patrol.Five hundred Patrolmen in one long, incredible line, carrying paralysisguns with them in their tight hands. Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air.Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered! Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathawayhad to credit them on that. They took it, standing. Hathaway chuckled inside, deep. What a sweet, sweet shot this was.His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped himfrom filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther wasthrowing a fit, still seated at his desk, unable to move because of hisfragile, bony legs and their atrophied state. Some of the Patrol were killed. Hathaway chuckled again as he saw threeof the Patrolmen clutch at their hearts, crumple, lie on the ground andtwitch. God, what photography! Gunther raged, and swept a small pistol from his linked corselet. Hefired wildly until Hathaway hit him over the head with a paper-weight.Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaostaking place immediately outside his window. The pirates broke and fled, those that were left. A mere handful. Andout of the chaos came Marnagan's voice, Here! <doc-sep>One of the Patrolmen stopped firing, and ran toward Click and theBuilding. He got inside. Did you see them run, Click boy? What anidea. How did we do? Fine, Irish. Fine! So here's Gunther, the spalpeen! Gunther, the little dried up pirate,eh? Marnagan whacked Hathaway on the back. I'll have to hand it toyou, this is the best plan o' battle ever laid out. And proud I was tofight with such splendid men as these— He gestured toward the Plaza. Click laughed with him. You should be proud. Five hundred Patrolmenwith hair like red banners flying, with thick Irish brogues and broadshoulders and freckles and blue eyes and a body as tall as yourstories! Marnagan roared. I always said, I said—if ever there could be anarmy of Marnagans, we could lick the whole damn uneeverse! Did youphotograph it, Click? I did. Hathaway tapped his camera happily. Ah, then, won't that be a scoop for you, boy? Money from the Patrol sothey can use the film as instruction in Classes and money from CosmicFilms for the news-reel headlines! And what a scene, and what acting!Five hundred duplicates of Steve Marnagan, broadcast telepathicallyinto the minds of the pirates, walking across a Plaza, capturing thewhole she-bang! How did you like my death-scenes? You're a ham. And anyway—five hundred duplicates, nothing! saidClick. He ripped the film-spool from the camera, spread it in the airto develop, inserted it in the micro-viewer. Have a look— Marnagan looked. Ah, now. Ah, now, he said over and over. There'sthe Plaza, and there's Gunther's men fighting and then they're turningand running. And what are they running from? One man! Me. IrishMarnagan! Walking all by myself across the lawn, paralyzing them. Oneagainst a hundred, and the cowards running from me! Sure, Click, this is better than I thought. I forgot that the filmwouldn't register telepathic emanations, them other Marnagans. Itmakes it look like I'm a mighty brave man, does it not? It does. Ah,look—look at me, Hathaway, I'm enjoying every minute of it, I am. <doc-sep>Hathaway swatted him on his back-side. Look here, you egocentric sonof Erin, there's more work to be done. More pirates to be captured. ThePatrol is still marching around and someone might be suspicious if theylooked too close and saw all that red hair. All right, Click, we'll clean up the rest of them now. We're acombination, we two, we are. I take it all back about your pictures,Click, if you hadn't thought of taking pictures of me and insertingit into those telepath machines we'd be dead ducks now. Well—here Igo.... Hathaway stopped him. Hold it. Until I load my camera again. Irish grinned. Hurry it up. Here come three guards. They're unarmed.I think I'll handle them with me fists for a change. The gentle art ofuppercuts. Are you ready, Hathaway? Ready. Marnagan lifted his big ham-fists. The camera whirred. Hathaway chuckled, to himself. What a sweet fade-out this was! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of Hathaway’s profession in the story?

Hathaway’s photography is the reason he is initially selected to go along on the mission to capture the outlaw Gunther. Unlike the character Marnagan, who is repeatedly described as physically very large and strong, Hathaway is not on the mission for his physical prowess, but is there to document Marnagan’s capture of Gunther for training of Junior Patrolmen in the future Hathaway has also invented self-developing film which seems like a cross between Polaroid pictures and a digital camera, as it has to be put into a micro-viewer at the camera’s base to be seen. This film allows Hathaway and Marnagan, the active partner on the mission, to view Hathaway’s pictures immediately and notice the absence of beasts from Hathaway’s pictures. This allows for the revelation that the beasts are telepathic projections into the men’s minds and sets up the final “battle” in the story, in which telepathic projections of Marnagan, created by the same projectors that created the beasts, along with photos from Hathaway’s film, defeat Gunther’s guards and enable Hathaway and Marnagan to capture Gunther. While nothing could have been accomplished without Marnagan, Hathaway’s photography is essential to the successful completion of the mission.

What is the relationship between Hathaway and Marnagan in the story? [SEP] <s> The Monster Maker By RAY BRADBURY Get Gunther, the official orders read. It was to laugh! For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Suddenly, it was there. There wasn't time to blink or speak or getscared. Click Hathaway's camera was loaded and he stood there listeningto it rack-spin film between his fingers, and he knew he was getting adamned sweet picture of everything that was happening. The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console,wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. And out in thedark of the fore-part there was space and a star-sprinkling and thismeteor coming like blazing fury. Click Hathaway felt the ship move under him like a sensitive animal'sskin. And then the meteor hit. It made a spiked fist and knocked therear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. There was plenty of noise. Too damned much. Hathaway only knew he waspicked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn'tlong in following, swearing loud words. Click remembered hanging on tohis camera and gritting to keep holding it. What a sweet shot that hadbeen of the meteor! A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out ofthe controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. It got quiet. It got so quiet you could almost hear the asteroidsrushing up, cold, blue and hard. You could hear your heart kicking atom-tom between your sick stomach and your empty lungs. Stars, asteroids revolved. Click grabbed Marnagan because he was thenearest thing, and held on. You came hunting for a space-raider and youended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk ofmetal death. What a fade-out! Irish! he heard himself say. Is this IT? Is this what ? yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!? Marnagan fumed. I'll die when I'm damned good and ready. And when I'mready I'll inform you and you can picture me profile for Cosmic Films! They both waited, thrust against the shipside and held by a hand ofgravity; listening to each other's breathing hard in the earphones. The ship struck, once. Bouncing, it struck again. It turned end overand stopped. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattledaround—human dice in a croupier's cup. The shell of the ship burst,air and energy flung out. Hathaway screamed the air out of his lungs, but his brain was thinkingquick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reachfilm, or an audience. Like this one, dammit! Like this one! Hisbrain spun, racketing like the instantaneous, flicking motions of hiscamera. <doc-sep>Silence came and engulfed all the noise, ate it up and swallowed it.Hathaway shook his head, instinctively grabbed at the camera lockedto his mid-belt. There was nothing but stars, twisted wreckage, coldthat pierced through his vac-suit, and silence. He wriggled out of thewreckage into that silence. He didn't know what he was doing until he found the camera in hisfingers as if it had grown there when he was born. He stood there,thinking Well, I'll at least have a few good scenes on film. I'll— A hunk of metal teetered, fell with a crash. Marnagan elevated sevenfeet of bellowing manhood from the wreck. Hold it! cracked Hathaway's high voice. Marnagan froze. The camerawhirred. Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathedfrom asteroid crackup. Swell stuff. I'll get a raise for this! From the toe of me boot! snarled Marnagan brusquely. Oxen shouldersflexed inside his vac-suit. I might've died in there, and you nursin'that film-contraption! Hathaway felt funny inside, suddenly. I never thought of that.Marnagan die? I just took it for granted you'd come through. You alwayshave. Funny, but you don't think about dying. You try not to. Hathawaystared at his gloved hand, but the gloving was so thick and heavy hecouldn't tell if it was shaking. Muscles in his bony face went down,pale. Where are we? A million miles from nobody. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain thatstretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars.Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it looksick. If we walk in opposite directions, Click Hathaway, we'd be shakinghands the other side of this rock in two hours. Marnagan shook his mopof dusty red hair. And I promised the boys at Luna Base this time I'dcapture that Gunther lad! His voice stopped and the silence spoke. Hathaway felt his heart pumping slow, hot pumps of blood. I checkedmy oxygen, Irish. Sixty minutes of breathing left. The silence punctuated that sentence, too. Upon the sharp meteoricrocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supplymashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or was suffocation a better death...? Sixty minutes. They stood and looked at one another. Damn that meteor! said Marnagan, hotly. Hathaway got hold of an idea; remembering something. He said it out:Somebody tossed that meteor, Irish. I took a picture of it, lookedit right in the eye when it rolled at us, and it was poker-hot.Space-meteors are never hot and glowing. If it's proof you want, I'vegot it here, on film. Marnagan winced his freckled square of face. It's not proof we neednow, Click. Oxygen. And then food . And then some way back to Earth. Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: This is Gunther's work. He'shere somewhere, probably laughing his guts out at the job he did us.Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get backto Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a piratewhose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally winsthrough to a triumphant finish. Photographed on the spot, in color, byyours truly, Click Hathaway. Cosmic Films, please notice. <doc-sep>They started walking, fast, over the pocked, rubbled plain toward abony ridge of metal. They kept their eyes wide and awake. There wasn'tmuch to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. Marnagan said, We're working on margin, and we got nothin' to sweatwith except your suspicions about this not being an accident. We gotfifty minutes to prove you're right. After that—right or wrong—you'llbe Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. But talk allyou like, Click. It's times like this when we all need words, anywords, on our tongues. You got your camera and your scoop. Talk aboutit. As for me— he twisted his glossy red face. Keeping alive is mehobby. And this sort of two-bit death I did not order. Click nodded. Gunther knows how you'd hate dying this way, Irish.It's irony clean through. That's probably why he planned the meteor andthe crash this way. Marnagan said nothing, but his thick lips went down at the corners, fardown, and the green eyes blazed. They stopped, together. Oops! Click said. Hey! Marnagan blinked. Did you feel that ? Hathaway's body felt feathery, light as a whisper, boneless andlimbless, suddenly. Irish! We lost weight, coming over that ridge! They ran back. Let's try it again. They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened.Gravity should not act this way, Click. Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! Nowonder we fell so fast—we were dragged down by a super-gravity set-up!Gunther'd do anything to—did I say anything ? Hathaway leaped backward in reaction. His eyes widened and his handcame up, jabbing. Over a hill-ridge swarmed a brew of unbelievablehorrors. Progeny from Frankenstein's ARK. Immense crimson beasts withnumerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, sometubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing alongin the air. Fangs caught starlight white on them. Hathaway yelled and ran, Marnagan at his heels, lumbering. Sweat brokecold on his body. The immense things rolled, slithered and squirmedafter him. A blast of light. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun. Then, inClick's ears, the Irishman's incredulous bellow. The gun didn't hurtthe creatures at all. Irish! Hathaway flung himself over the ridge, slid down an inclinetoward the mouth a small cave. This way, fella! Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. They'retoo big; they can't get us in here! Click's voice gasped it out,as Marnagan squeezed his two-hundred-fifty pounds beside him.Instinctively, Hathaway added, Asteroid monsters! My camera! What ascene! Damn your damn camera! yelled Marnagan. They might come in! Use your gun. They got impervious hides. No use. Gahh! And that was a pretty chase,eh, Click? Yeah. Sure. You enjoyed it, every moment of it. I did that. Irish grinned, showing white uneven teeth. Now, whatwill we be doing with these uninvited guests at our door? Let me think— Lots of time, little man. Forty more minutes of air, to be exact. <doc-sep>They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway feltfunny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monstersand Gunther and— Which one will you be having? asked Irish, casually. A red one or ablue one? Hathaway laughed nervously. A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,now you've got me doing it. Joking in the face of death. Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck. That didn't please the photographer. I'm an Anglo-Swede, he pointedout. Marnagan shifted uneasily. Here, now. You're doing nothing butsitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so takeme a profile shot of the beasties and myself. Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. What in hell's the use? Allthis swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it. Then, retorted Marnagan, we'll develop it for our own benefit; whilewaitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to ourrescue! Hathaway snorted. U.S. Cavalry. Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. Snap me this pose, hesaid. I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peacenegotiations betwixt me and these pixies. Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaverfor nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking runningaround in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, buthis mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture ofMarnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals. Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smilingfor the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, withoutmuch effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing deathwall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not sayinganything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and theyhad sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts. When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used itup arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we feltback on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Spacewar isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectoryis lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, whichdispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikesunseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces. Marnagan rumbled. Where is the dirty son, then! He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them. Hathaway nodded atthe beasts. People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or fromwounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animalstend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtlehis attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if thePatrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,then. I don't see no Base around. <doc-sep>Click shrugged. Still doubt it? Okay. Look. He tapped his camera anda spool popped out onto his gloved palm. Holding it up, he strippedit out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while itdeveloped, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developingfilm. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical,leaving imprints; the second exposure simply hardened, secured theimpressions. Quick stuff. Inserting the film-tongue into a micro-viewer in the camera's base,Click handed the whole thing over. Look. Marnagan put the viewer up against the helmet glass, squinted. Ah,Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented. Huh? It's a strange process'll develop my picture and ignore the asteroidmonsters complete. What! Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again:Pictures in montage; Marnagan sitting down, chatting conversationallywith nothing ; Marnagan shooting his gun at nothing ; Marnaganpretending to be happy in front of nothing . Then, closeup—of—NOTHING! The monsters had failed to image the film. Marnagan was there, his hairlike a red banner, his freckled face with the blue eyes bright in it.Maybe— Hathaway said it, loud: Irish! Irish! I think I see a way out of thismess! Here— He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film,the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said themonsters weren't there, they weren't there. Yeah, said Marnagan. But step outside this cave— If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid, said Click. Marnagan scowled. You sure them beasts don't radiate ultra-violet orinfra-red or something that won't come out on film? Nuts! Any color we see, the camera sees. We've been fooled. Hey, where you going? Marnagan blocked Hathaway as the smaller mantried pushing past him. Get out of the way, said Hathaway. Marnagan put his big fists on his hips. If anyone is going anywhere,it'll be me does the going. I can't let you do that, Irish. Why not? You'd be going on my say-so. Ain't your say-so good enough for me? Yes. Sure. Of course. I guess— If you say them animals ain't there, that's all I need. Now, standaside, you film-developing flea, and let an Irishman settle theirbones. He took an unnecessary hitch in trousers that didn't existexcept under an inch of porous metal plate. Your express purpose onthis voyage, Hathaway, is taking films to be used by the Patrol laterfor teaching Junior Patrolmen how to act in tough spots. First-handeducation. Poke another spool of film in that contraption and give meprofile a scan. This is lesson number seven: Daniel Walks Into TheLion's Den. Irish, I— Shut up and load up. Hathaway nervously loaded the film-slot, raised it. Ready, Click? I—I guess so, said Hathaway. And remember, think it hard, Irish.Think it hard. There aren't any animals— Keep me in focus, lad. All the way, Irish. What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera! Marnagan held his gun out in front of him and still smiling took one,two, three, four steps out into the outside world. The monsters werewaiting for him at the fifth step. Marnagan kept walking. Right out into the middle of them.... <doc-sep>That was the sweetest shot Hathaway ever took. Marnagan and themonsters! Only now it was only Marnagan. No more monsters. Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. Hey, Click, lookat me! I'm in one piece. Why, hell, the damned things turned tail andran away! Ran, hell! cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed andanimated. They just plain vanished. They were only imaginativefigments! And to think we let them hole us in that way, Click Hathaway, youcoward! Smile when you say that, Irish. Sure, and ain't I always smilin'? Ah, Click boy, are them tears inyour sweet grey eyes? Damn, swore the photographer, embarrassedly. Why don't they putwindow-wipers in these helmets? I'll take it up with the Board, lad. Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in onehunk, I couldn't help—Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are partof his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased backinto their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothingsuspicious about animals. And if the tourists don't leave, the animalskill them. Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill. Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they couldhave frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. Ifthat isn't being dangerous— The Irishman whistled. But, we've got to move , Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen.In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source,Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters. Clickattached his camera to his mid-belt. Gunther probably thinks we'redead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates; they neverhad a chance to disbelieve them. If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click— Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident— Clickstopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head andfelt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steadyhimself, and swayed. I—I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours.This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick. Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. Hold tight, Click. Theguy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach. Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animalscame from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to comeback! Come back? How? They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if webelieve in them again, they'll return. Marnagan didn't like it. Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—ifwe believe in 'em? Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. Not if we believein them to a certain point . Psychologically they can both be seen andfelt. We only want to see them coming at us again. Do we, now? With twenty minutes left, maybe less— All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it? Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. Just think—I will seethe monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them.Think it over and over. Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. And—what if I forget to rememberall that? What if I get excited...? Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking atIrish. Marnagan cursed. All right, lad. Let's have at it! The monsters returned. <doc-sep>A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarmingin malevolent anticipation about the two men. This way, Irish. They come from this way! There's a focal point, asending station for these telepathic brutes. Come on! Hathaway sludged into the pressing tide of color, mouths, contortedfaces, silvery fat bodies misting as he plowed through them. Marnagan was making good progress ahead of Hathaway. But he stopped andraised his gun and made quick moves with it. Click! This one here!It's real! He fell back and something struck him down. His immenseframe slammed against rock, noiselessly. Hathaway darted forward, flung his body over Marnagan's, covered thehelmet glass with his hands, shouting: Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real—don't let it force intoyour mind! It's not real, I tell you! Click— Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass.Click— He was fighting hard. I—I—sure now. Sure— He smiled.It—it's only a shanty fake! Keep saying it, Irish. Keep it up. Marnagan's thick lips opened. It's only a fake, he said. And then,irritated, Get the hell off me, Hathaway. Let me up to my feet! Hathaway got up, shakily. The air in his helmet smelled stale, andlittle bubbles danced in his eyes. Irish, you forget the monsters.Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you mightforget. Marnagan showed his teeth. Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? Andbesides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty. The outpour of animals came from a low lying mound a mile farther on.Evidently the telepathic source lay there. They approached it warily. We'll be taking our chances on guard, hissed Irish. I'll go ahead,draw their attention, maybe get captured. Then, you show up with your gun.... I haven't got one. We'll chance it, then. You stick here until I see what's ahead. Theyprobably got scanners out. Let them see me— And before Hathaway could object, Marnagan walked off. He walked aboutfive hundred yards, bent down, applied his fingers to something, heavedup, and there was a door opening in the rock. His voice came back across the distance, into Click's earphones. Adoor, an air-lock, Click. A tunnel leading down inside! Then, Marnagan dropped into the tunnel, disappearing. Click heard thethud of his feet hitting the metal flooring. Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast. All right, put 'em up! a new harsh voice cried over a differentradio. One of Gunther's guards. Three shots sizzled out, and Marnagan bellowed. The strange harsh voice said, That's better. Don't try and pick thatgun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off.How'd you get past the animals? Click started running. He switched off his sending audio, kept his receiving on. Marnagan, weaponless. One guard. Click gasped. Thingswere getting dark. Had to have air. Air. Air. He ran and kept runningand listening to Marnagan's lying voice: I tied them pink elephants of Gunther's in neat alphabetical bundlesand stacked them up to dry, ya louse! Marnagan said. But, damn you,they killed my partner before he had a chance! The guard laughed. <doc-sep>The air-lock door was still wide open when Click reached it, his headswimming darkly, his lungs crammed with pain-fire and hell-rockets. Helet himself down in, quiet and soft. He didn't have a weapon. He didn'thave a weapon. Oh, damn, damn! A tunnel curved, ending in light, and two men silhouetted in thatyellow glare. Marnagan, backed against a wall, his helmet cracked,air hissing slowly out of it, his face turning blue. And the guard, aproton gun extended stiffly before him, also in a vac-suit. The guardhad his profile toward Hathaway, his lips twisting: I think I'll letyou stand right there and die, he said quietly. That what Guntherwanted, anway. A nice sordid death. Hathaway took three strides, his hands out in front of him. Don't move! he snapped. I've got a weapon stronger than yours. Onetwitch and I'll blast you and the whole damned wall out from behindyou! Freeze! The guard whirled. He widened his sharp eyes, and reluctantly, droppedhis gun to the floor. Get his gun, Irish. Marnagan made as if to move, crumpled clumsily forward. Hathaway ran in, snatched up the gun, smirked at the guard. Thanks forposing, he said. That shot will go down in film history for candidacting. What! Ah: ah! Keep your place. I've got a real gun now. Where's the doorleading into the Base? The guard moved his head sullenly over his left shoulder. Click was afraid he would show his weak dizziness. He needed air.Okay. Drag Marnagan with you, open the door and we'll have air. Doubletime! Double! Ten minutes later, Marnagan and Hathaway, fresh tanks of oxygen ontheir backs, Marnagan in a fresh bulger and helmet, trussed the guard,hid him in a huge trash receptacle. Where he belongs, observed Irishtersely. They found themselves in a complete inner world; an asteroid nothingmore than a honey-comb fortress sliding through the void unchallenged.Perfect front for a raider who had little equipment and wasshort-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships torocket by, pulled them or knocked them down and swarmed over them forcargo. The animals served simply to insure against suspicion and theswarms of tourists that filled the void these days. Small fry weren'twanted. They were scared off. The telepathic sending station for the animals was a great bank ofintricate, glittering machine, through which strips of colored filmwith images slid into slots and machine mouths that translated theminto thought-emanations. A damned neat piece of genius. So here we are, still not much better off than we were, growledIrish. We haven't a ship or a space-radio, and more guards'll turnup any moment. You think we could refocus this doohingey, project themonsters inside the asteroid to fool the pirates themselves? What good would that do? Hathaway gnawed his lip. They wouldn't foolthe engineers who created them, you nut. Marnagan exhaled disgustedly. Ah, if only the U.S. Cavalry would comeriding over the hill— <doc-sep>Irish! Hathaway snapped that, his face lighting up. Irish. The U.S.Cavalry it is! His eyes darted over the machines. Here. Help me.We'll stage everything on the most colossal raid of the century. Marnagan winced. You breathing oxygen or whiskey? There's only one stipulation I make, Irish. I want a complete pictureof Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's facewhen you do it. Snap it, now, we've got rush work to do. How good anactor are you? That's a silly question. You only have to do three things. Walk with your gun out in front ofyou, firing. That's number one. Number two is to clutch at your heartand fall down dead. Number three is to clutch at your side, fall downand twitch on the ground. Is that clear? Clear as the Coal Sack Nebula.... An hour later Hathaway trudged down a passageway that led out into asort of city street inside the asteroid. There were about six streets,lined with cube houses in yellow metal, ending near Hathaway in awide, green-lawned Plaza. Hathaway, weaponless, idly carrying his camera in one hand, walkedacross the Plaza as if he owned it. He was heading for a building thatwas pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters. He got halfway there when he felt a gun in his back. He didn't resist. They took him straight ahead to his destination andpushed him into a room where Gunther sat. Hathaway looked at him. So you're Gunther? he said, calmly. Thepirate was incredibly old, his bulging forehead stood out over sunken,questioningly dark eyes, and his scrawny body was lost in folds ofmetal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before hecould speak, Hathaway said: Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now andwe're capturing your Base. Don't try to fight. We've a thousand menagainst your eighty-five. Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin handstwitched in his lap. You are bluffing, he said, finally, with a firmdirectness. A ship hasn't landed here for an hour. Your ship was thelast. Two people were on it. The last I saw of them they were beingpursued to the death by the Beasts. One of you escaped, it seemed. Both. The other guy went after the Patrol. Impossible! I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther. A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, loungingon carved benches during their time-off, stirred to their feet andstarted yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one sideof his office. He stared, hard. The Patrol was coming! Across the Plaza, marching quietly and decisively, came the Patrol.Five hundred Patrolmen in one long, incredible line, carrying paralysisguns with them in their tight hands. Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air.Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered! Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathawayhad to credit them on that. They took it, standing. Hathaway chuckled inside, deep. What a sweet, sweet shot this was.His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped himfrom filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther wasthrowing a fit, still seated at his desk, unable to move because of hisfragile, bony legs and their atrophied state. Some of the Patrol were killed. Hathaway chuckled again as he saw threeof the Patrolmen clutch at their hearts, crumple, lie on the ground andtwitch. God, what photography! Gunther raged, and swept a small pistol from his linked corselet. Hefired wildly until Hathaway hit him over the head with a paper-weight.Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaostaking place immediately outside his window. The pirates broke and fled, those that were left. A mere handful. Andout of the chaos came Marnagan's voice, Here! <doc-sep>One of the Patrolmen stopped firing, and ran toward Click and theBuilding. He got inside. Did you see them run, Click boy? What anidea. How did we do? Fine, Irish. Fine! So here's Gunther, the spalpeen! Gunther, the little dried up pirate,eh? Marnagan whacked Hathaway on the back. I'll have to hand it toyou, this is the best plan o' battle ever laid out. And proud I was tofight with such splendid men as these— He gestured toward the Plaza. Click laughed with him. You should be proud. Five hundred Patrolmenwith hair like red banners flying, with thick Irish brogues and broadshoulders and freckles and blue eyes and a body as tall as yourstories! Marnagan roared. I always said, I said—if ever there could be anarmy of Marnagans, we could lick the whole damn uneeverse! Did youphotograph it, Click? I did. Hathaway tapped his camera happily. Ah, then, won't that be a scoop for you, boy? Money from the Patrol sothey can use the film as instruction in Classes and money from CosmicFilms for the news-reel headlines! And what a scene, and what acting!Five hundred duplicates of Steve Marnagan, broadcast telepathicallyinto the minds of the pirates, walking across a Plaza, capturing thewhole she-bang! How did you like my death-scenes? You're a ham. And anyway—five hundred duplicates, nothing! saidClick. He ripped the film-spool from the camera, spread it in the airto develop, inserted it in the micro-viewer. Have a look— Marnagan looked. Ah, now. Ah, now, he said over and over. There'sthe Plaza, and there's Gunther's men fighting and then they're turningand running. And what are they running from? One man! Me. IrishMarnagan! Walking all by myself across the lawn, paralyzing them. Oneagainst a hundred, and the cowards running from me! Sure, Click, this is better than I thought. I forgot that the filmwouldn't register telepathic emanations, them other Marnagans. Itmakes it look like I'm a mighty brave man, does it not? It does. Ah,look—look at me, Hathaway, I'm enjoying every minute of it, I am. <doc-sep>Hathaway swatted him on his back-side. Look here, you egocentric sonof Erin, there's more work to be done. More pirates to be captured. ThePatrol is still marching around and someone might be suspicious if theylooked too close and saw all that red hair. All right, Click, we'll clean up the rest of them now. We're acombination, we two, we are. I take it all back about your pictures,Click, if you hadn't thought of taking pictures of me and insertingit into those telepath machines we'd be dead ducks now. Well—here Igo.... Hathaway stopped him. Hold it. Until I load my camera again. Irish grinned. Hurry it up. Here come three guards. They're unarmed.I think I'll handle them with me fists for a change. The gentle art ofuppercuts. Are you ready, Hathaway? Ready. Marnagan lifted his big ham-fists. The camera whirred. Hathaway chuckled, to himself. What a sweet fade-out this was! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship between Hathaway and Marnagan in the story?

Despite their clear differences, Hathaway and Marnagan are a solid team who work well together and depend on each other. We first see this in the opening scene of the story where Hathaway is physically clinging to Marnagan in his distress during the crash sequence. After the crash, Hathaway is more concerned with taking photos of Marnagan emerging from the crash than helping him emerge from the rubble, not because he doesn’t care about his companion, but because he sees his companion as so strong, it doesn’t occur to him to be concerned for his physical safety. This points to one of their key differences--while Marnagan is immediately concerned for Hathaway’s safety and assumes Hathaway would reciprocate, Hathaway sees Marnagan as much stronger than himself, nearly invulnerable.We see Hathaway and Marnagan’s collaborative relationship continue when they are faced with the beasts. They are both afraid; Hathaway is the first to spot the secure hiding place of the cave and hails Marnagan to run there. Marnagan then proposes that he pose “with” the beasts--standing at a safe distance with them in the background--and Hathaway agrees. They continue to argue about what to do while Hathaway develops the film as part of his argument. When Hathaway presents the developed film as evidence, Marnagan teases him about his invention being “lousy”, as only he (Marnagan) shows in the photos, but the monsters do not. This joke sets up Hathaway’s realization that the beasts are telepathic projections rather than physical beings, leading the men to debate which of them will lead the hunt for oxygen. While Hathaway knows his partner is physically stronger and he is already suffering from oxygen deprivation, he doesn’t want to risk Marnagan’s safety if his deduction proves wrong. Marnagan, however, shows his trust in Hathaway by insisting that he (Marnagan) lead, confident that if Hathaway says the monsters aren’t there, they are indeed not.When Marnagan briefly succumbs to the telepathic illusion of the beasts, Hathaway is able to talk him down. Just by listening to Hathaway’s words, Marnagan is able to convince himself again that the beasts are not real. Marnagan then convinces the guard he encounters that Hathaway died in the ship crash, allowing Hathaway to sneak in, capture the guard, and get both the men oxygen. They use their teamwork in a last instance to defeat the principal antagonist of the story, Gunther. Hathaway is captured by more of Gunther’s guards and taken to him, but is already prepared. He shows Gunther that Gunther’s men are being overwhelmed and defeated by five hundred armed Patrol men, causing Gunther to pull out a weapon and fire wildly until Hathaway knocks him unconscious. We then are told that the “five hundred Patrol men” are telepathic illusions of Marnagan projected by the same projectors that created the images of the beasts, supplied with photos of Marnagan shot by Hathaway. Once again their teamwork proves crucial to the success of the mission.

What is the significance of the crash of Hathaway and Marnagan’s ship in the opening scene for the rest of the story? [SEP] <s> The Monster Maker By RAY BRADBURY Get Gunther, the official orders read. It was to laugh! For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Suddenly, it was there. There wasn't time to blink or speak or getscared. Click Hathaway's camera was loaded and he stood there listeningto it rack-spin film between his fingers, and he knew he was getting adamned sweet picture of everything that was happening. The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console,wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. And out in thedark of the fore-part there was space and a star-sprinkling and thismeteor coming like blazing fury. Click Hathaway felt the ship move under him like a sensitive animal'sskin. And then the meteor hit. It made a spiked fist and knocked therear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. There was plenty of noise. Too damned much. Hathaway only knew he waspicked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn'tlong in following, swearing loud words. Click remembered hanging on tohis camera and gritting to keep holding it. What a sweet shot that hadbeen of the meteor! A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out ofthe controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. It got quiet. It got so quiet you could almost hear the asteroidsrushing up, cold, blue and hard. You could hear your heart kicking atom-tom between your sick stomach and your empty lungs. Stars, asteroids revolved. Click grabbed Marnagan because he was thenearest thing, and held on. You came hunting for a space-raider and youended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk ofmetal death. What a fade-out! Irish! he heard himself say. Is this IT? Is this what ? yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!? Marnagan fumed. I'll die when I'm damned good and ready. And when I'mready I'll inform you and you can picture me profile for Cosmic Films! They both waited, thrust against the shipside and held by a hand ofgravity; listening to each other's breathing hard in the earphones. The ship struck, once. Bouncing, it struck again. It turned end overand stopped. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattledaround—human dice in a croupier's cup. The shell of the ship burst,air and energy flung out. Hathaway screamed the air out of his lungs, but his brain was thinkingquick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reachfilm, or an audience. Like this one, dammit! Like this one! Hisbrain spun, racketing like the instantaneous, flicking motions of hiscamera. <doc-sep>Silence came and engulfed all the noise, ate it up and swallowed it.Hathaway shook his head, instinctively grabbed at the camera lockedto his mid-belt. There was nothing but stars, twisted wreckage, coldthat pierced through his vac-suit, and silence. He wriggled out of thewreckage into that silence. He didn't know what he was doing until he found the camera in hisfingers as if it had grown there when he was born. He stood there,thinking Well, I'll at least have a few good scenes on film. I'll— A hunk of metal teetered, fell with a crash. Marnagan elevated sevenfeet of bellowing manhood from the wreck. Hold it! cracked Hathaway's high voice. Marnagan froze. The camerawhirred. Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathedfrom asteroid crackup. Swell stuff. I'll get a raise for this! From the toe of me boot! snarled Marnagan brusquely. Oxen shouldersflexed inside his vac-suit. I might've died in there, and you nursin'that film-contraption! Hathaway felt funny inside, suddenly. I never thought of that.Marnagan die? I just took it for granted you'd come through. You alwayshave. Funny, but you don't think about dying. You try not to. Hathawaystared at his gloved hand, but the gloving was so thick and heavy hecouldn't tell if it was shaking. Muscles in his bony face went down,pale. Where are we? A million miles from nobody. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain thatstretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars.Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it looksick. If we walk in opposite directions, Click Hathaway, we'd be shakinghands the other side of this rock in two hours. Marnagan shook his mopof dusty red hair. And I promised the boys at Luna Base this time I'dcapture that Gunther lad! His voice stopped and the silence spoke. Hathaway felt his heart pumping slow, hot pumps of blood. I checkedmy oxygen, Irish. Sixty minutes of breathing left. The silence punctuated that sentence, too. Upon the sharp meteoricrocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supplymashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or was suffocation a better death...? Sixty minutes. They stood and looked at one another. Damn that meteor! said Marnagan, hotly. Hathaway got hold of an idea; remembering something. He said it out:Somebody tossed that meteor, Irish. I took a picture of it, lookedit right in the eye when it rolled at us, and it was poker-hot.Space-meteors are never hot and glowing. If it's proof you want, I'vegot it here, on film. Marnagan winced his freckled square of face. It's not proof we neednow, Click. Oxygen. And then food . And then some way back to Earth. Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: This is Gunther's work. He'shere somewhere, probably laughing his guts out at the job he did us.Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get backto Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a piratewhose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally winsthrough to a triumphant finish. Photographed on the spot, in color, byyours truly, Click Hathaway. Cosmic Films, please notice. <doc-sep>They started walking, fast, over the pocked, rubbled plain toward abony ridge of metal. They kept their eyes wide and awake. There wasn'tmuch to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. Marnagan said, We're working on margin, and we got nothin' to sweatwith except your suspicions about this not being an accident. We gotfifty minutes to prove you're right. After that—right or wrong—you'llbe Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. But talk allyou like, Click. It's times like this when we all need words, anywords, on our tongues. You got your camera and your scoop. Talk aboutit. As for me— he twisted his glossy red face. Keeping alive is mehobby. And this sort of two-bit death I did not order. Click nodded. Gunther knows how you'd hate dying this way, Irish.It's irony clean through. That's probably why he planned the meteor andthe crash this way. Marnagan said nothing, but his thick lips went down at the corners, fardown, and the green eyes blazed. They stopped, together. Oops! Click said. Hey! Marnagan blinked. Did you feel that ? Hathaway's body felt feathery, light as a whisper, boneless andlimbless, suddenly. Irish! We lost weight, coming over that ridge! They ran back. Let's try it again. They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened.Gravity should not act this way, Click. Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! Nowonder we fell so fast—we were dragged down by a super-gravity set-up!Gunther'd do anything to—did I say anything ? Hathaway leaped backward in reaction. His eyes widened and his handcame up, jabbing. Over a hill-ridge swarmed a brew of unbelievablehorrors. Progeny from Frankenstein's ARK. Immense crimson beasts withnumerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, sometubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing alongin the air. Fangs caught starlight white on them. Hathaway yelled and ran, Marnagan at his heels, lumbering. Sweat brokecold on his body. The immense things rolled, slithered and squirmedafter him. A blast of light. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun. Then, inClick's ears, the Irishman's incredulous bellow. The gun didn't hurtthe creatures at all. Irish! Hathaway flung himself over the ridge, slid down an inclinetoward the mouth a small cave. This way, fella! Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. They'retoo big; they can't get us in here! Click's voice gasped it out,as Marnagan squeezed his two-hundred-fifty pounds beside him.Instinctively, Hathaway added, Asteroid monsters! My camera! What ascene! Damn your damn camera! yelled Marnagan. They might come in! Use your gun. They got impervious hides. No use. Gahh! And that was a pretty chase,eh, Click? Yeah. Sure. You enjoyed it, every moment of it. I did that. Irish grinned, showing white uneven teeth. Now, whatwill we be doing with these uninvited guests at our door? Let me think— Lots of time, little man. Forty more minutes of air, to be exact. <doc-sep>They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway feltfunny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monstersand Gunther and— Which one will you be having? asked Irish, casually. A red one or ablue one? Hathaway laughed nervously. A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,now you've got me doing it. Joking in the face of death. Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck. That didn't please the photographer. I'm an Anglo-Swede, he pointedout. Marnagan shifted uneasily. Here, now. You're doing nothing butsitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so takeme a profile shot of the beasties and myself. Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. What in hell's the use? Allthis swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it. Then, retorted Marnagan, we'll develop it for our own benefit; whilewaitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to ourrescue! Hathaway snorted. U.S. Cavalry. Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. Snap me this pose, hesaid. I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peacenegotiations betwixt me and these pixies. Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaverfor nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking runningaround in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, buthis mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture ofMarnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals. Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smilingfor the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, withoutmuch effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing deathwall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not sayinganything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and theyhad sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts. When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used itup arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we feltback on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Spacewar isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectoryis lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, whichdispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikesunseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces. Marnagan rumbled. Where is the dirty son, then! He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them. Hathaway nodded atthe beasts. People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or fromwounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animalstend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtlehis attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if thePatrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,then. I don't see no Base around. <doc-sep>Click shrugged. Still doubt it? Okay. Look. He tapped his camera anda spool popped out onto his gloved palm. Holding it up, he strippedit out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while itdeveloped, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developingfilm. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical,leaving imprints; the second exposure simply hardened, secured theimpressions. Quick stuff. Inserting the film-tongue into a micro-viewer in the camera's base,Click handed the whole thing over. Look. Marnagan put the viewer up against the helmet glass, squinted. Ah,Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented. Huh? It's a strange process'll develop my picture and ignore the asteroidmonsters complete. What! Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again:Pictures in montage; Marnagan sitting down, chatting conversationallywith nothing ; Marnagan shooting his gun at nothing ; Marnaganpretending to be happy in front of nothing . Then, closeup—of—NOTHING! The monsters had failed to image the film. Marnagan was there, his hairlike a red banner, his freckled face with the blue eyes bright in it.Maybe— Hathaway said it, loud: Irish! Irish! I think I see a way out of thismess! Here— He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film,the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said themonsters weren't there, they weren't there. Yeah, said Marnagan. But step outside this cave— If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid, said Click. Marnagan scowled. You sure them beasts don't radiate ultra-violet orinfra-red or something that won't come out on film? Nuts! Any color we see, the camera sees. We've been fooled. Hey, where you going? Marnagan blocked Hathaway as the smaller mantried pushing past him. Get out of the way, said Hathaway. Marnagan put his big fists on his hips. If anyone is going anywhere,it'll be me does the going. I can't let you do that, Irish. Why not? You'd be going on my say-so. Ain't your say-so good enough for me? Yes. Sure. Of course. I guess— If you say them animals ain't there, that's all I need. Now, standaside, you film-developing flea, and let an Irishman settle theirbones. He took an unnecessary hitch in trousers that didn't existexcept under an inch of porous metal plate. Your express purpose onthis voyage, Hathaway, is taking films to be used by the Patrol laterfor teaching Junior Patrolmen how to act in tough spots. First-handeducation. Poke another spool of film in that contraption and give meprofile a scan. This is lesson number seven: Daniel Walks Into TheLion's Den. Irish, I— Shut up and load up. Hathaway nervously loaded the film-slot, raised it. Ready, Click? I—I guess so, said Hathaway. And remember, think it hard, Irish.Think it hard. There aren't any animals— Keep me in focus, lad. All the way, Irish. What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera! Marnagan held his gun out in front of him and still smiling took one,two, three, four steps out into the outside world. The monsters werewaiting for him at the fifth step. Marnagan kept walking. Right out into the middle of them.... <doc-sep>That was the sweetest shot Hathaway ever took. Marnagan and themonsters! Only now it was only Marnagan. No more monsters. Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. Hey, Click, lookat me! I'm in one piece. Why, hell, the damned things turned tail andran away! Ran, hell! cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed andanimated. They just plain vanished. They were only imaginativefigments! And to think we let them hole us in that way, Click Hathaway, youcoward! Smile when you say that, Irish. Sure, and ain't I always smilin'? Ah, Click boy, are them tears inyour sweet grey eyes? Damn, swore the photographer, embarrassedly. Why don't they putwindow-wipers in these helmets? I'll take it up with the Board, lad. Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in onehunk, I couldn't help—Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are partof his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased backinto their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothingsuspicious about animals. And if the tourists don't leave, the animalskill them. Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill. Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they couldhave frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. Ifthat isn't being dangerous— The Irishman whistled. But, we've got to move , Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen.In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source,Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters. Clickattached his camera to his mid-belt. Gunther probably thinks we'redead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates; they neverhad a chance to disbelieve them. If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click— Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident— Clickstopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head andfelt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steadyhimself, and swayed. I—I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours.This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick. Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. Hold tight, Click. Theguy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach. Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animalscame from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to comeback! Come back? How? They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if webelieve in them again, they'll return. Marnagan didn't like it. Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—ifwe believe in 'em? Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. Not if we believein them to a certain point . Psychologically they can both be seen andfelt. We only want to see them coming at us again. Do we, now? With twenty minutes left, maybe less— All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it? Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. Just think—I will seethe monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them.Think it over and over. Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. And—what if I forget to rememberall that? What if I get excited...? Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking atIrish. Marnagan cursed. All right, lad. Let's have at it! The monsters returned. <doc-sep>A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarmingin malevolent anticipation about the two men. This way, Irish. They come from this way! There's a focal point, asending station for these telepathic brutes. Come on! Hathaway sludged into the pressing tide of color, mouths, contortedfaces, silvery fat bodies misting as he plowed through them. Marnagan was making good progress ahead of Hathaway. But he stopped andraised his gun and made quick moves with it. Click! This one here!It's real! He fell back and something struck him down. His immenseframe slammed against rock, noiselessly. Hathaway darted forward, flung his body over Marnagan's, covered thehelmet glass with his hands, shouting: Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real—don't let it force intoyour mind! It's not real, I tell you! Click— Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass.Click— He was fighting hard. I—I—sure now. Sure— He smiled.It—it's only a shanty fake! Keep saying it, Irish. Keep it up. Marnagan's thick lips opened. It's only a fake, he said. And then,irritated, Get the hell off me, Hathaway. Let me up to my feet! Hathaway got up, shakily. The air in his helmet smelled stale, andlittle bubbles danced in his eyes. Irish, you forget the monsters.Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you mightforget. Marnagan showed his teeth. Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? Andbesides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty. The outpour of animals came from a low lying mound a mile farther on.Evidently the telepathic source lay there. They approached it warily. We'll be taking our chances on guard, hissed Irish. I'll go ahead,draw their attention, maybe get captured. Then, you show up with your gun.... I haven't got one. We'll chance it, then. You stick here until I see what's ahead. Theyprobably got scanners out. Let them see me— And before Hathaway could object, Marnagan walked off. He walked aboutfive hundred yards, bent down, applied his fingers to something, heavedup, and there was a door opening in the rock. His voice came back across the distance, into Click's earphones. Adoor, an air-lock, Click. A tunnel leading down inside! Then, Marnagan dropped into the tunnel, disappearing. Click heard thethud of his feet hitting the metal flooring. Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast. All right, put 'em up! a new harsh voice cried over a differentradio. One of Gunther's guards. Three shots sizzled out, and Marnagan bellowed. The strange harsh voice said, That's better. Don't try and pick thatgun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off.How'd you get past the animals? Click started running. He switched off his sending audio, kept his receiving on. Marnagan, weaponless. One guard. Click gasped. Thingswere getting dark. Had to have air. Air. Air. He ran and kept runningand listening to Marnagan's lying voice: I tied them pink elephants of Gunther's in neat alphabetical bundlesand stacked them up to dry, ya louse! Marnagan said. But, damn you,they killed my partner before he had a chance! The guard laughed. <doc-sep>The air-lock door was still wide open when Click reached it, his headswimming darkly, his lungs crammed with pain-fire and hell-rockets. Helet himself down in, quiet and soft. He didn't have a weapon. He didn'thave a weapon. Oh, damn, damn! A tunnel curved, ending in light, and two men silhouetted in thatyellow glare. Marnagan, backed against a wall, his helmet cracked,air hissing slowly out of it, his face turning blue. And the guard, aproton gun extended stiffly before him, also in a vac-suit. The guardhad his profile toward Hathaway, his lips twisting: I think I'll letyou stand right there and die, he said quietly. That what Guntherwanted, anway. A nice sordid death. Hathaway took three strides, his hands out in front of him. Don't move! he snapped. I've got a weapon stronger than yours. Onetwitch and I'll blast you and the whole damned wall out from behindyou! Freeze! The guard whirled. He widened his sharp eyes, and reluctantly, droppedhis gun to the floor. Get his gun, Irish. Marnagan made as if to move, crumpled clumsily forward. Hathaway ran in, snatched up the gun, smirked at the guard. Thanks forposing, he said. That shot will go down in film history for candidacting. What! Ah: ah! Keep your place. I've got a real gun now. Where's the doorleading into the Base? The guard moved his head sullenly over his left shoulder. Click was afraid he would show his weak dizziness. He needed air.Okay. Drag Marnagan with you, open the door and we'll have air. Doubletime! Double! Ten minutes later, Marnagan and Hathaway, fresh tanks of oxygen ontheir backs, Marnagan in a fresh bulger and helmet, trussed the guard,hid him in a huge trash receptacle. Where he belongs, observed Irishtersely. They found themselves in a complete inner world; an asteroid nothingmore than a honey-comb fortress sliding through the void unchallenged.Perfect front for a raider who had little equipment and wasshort-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships torocket by, pulled them or knocked them down and swarmed over them forcargo. The animals served simply to insure against suspicion and theswarms of tourists that filled the void these days. Small fry weren'twanted. They were scared off. The telepathic sending station for the animals was a great bank ofintricate, glittering machine, through which strips of colored filmwith images slid into slots and machine mouths that translated theminto thought-emanations. A damned neat piece of genius. So here we are, still not much better off than we were, growledIrish. We haven't a ship or a space-radio, and more guards'll turnup any moment. You think we could refocus this doohingey, project themonsters inside the asteroid to fool the pirates themselves? What good would that do? Hathaway gnawed his lip. They wouldn't foolthe engineers who created them, you nut. Marnagan exhaled disgustedly. Ah, if only the U.S. Cavalry would comeriding over the hill— <doc-sep>Irish! Hathaway snapped that, his face lighting up. Irish. The U.S.Cavalry it is! His eyes darted over the machines. Here. Help me.We'll stage everything on the most colossal raid of the century. Marnagan winced. You breathing oxygen or whiskey? There's only one stipulation I make, Irish. I want a complete pictureof Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's facewhen you do it. Snap it, now, we've got rush work to do. How good anactor are you? That's a silly question. You only have to do three things. Walk with your gun out in front ofyou, firing. That's number one. Number two is to clutch at your heartand fall down dead. Number three is to clutch at your side, fall downand twitch on the ground. Is that clear? Clear as the Coal Sack Nebula.... An hour later Hathaway trudged down a passageway that led out into asort of city street inside the asteroid. There were about six streets,lined with cube houses in yellow metal, ending near Hathaway in awide, green-lawned Plaza. Hathaway, weaponless, idly carrying his camera in one hand, walkedacross the Plaza as if he owned it. He was heading for a building thatwas pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters. He got halfway there when he felt a gun in his back. He didn't resist. They took him straight ahead to his destination andpushed him into a room where Gunther sat. Hathaway looked at him. So you're Gunther? he said, calmly. Thepirate was incredibly old, his bulging forehead stood out over sunken,questioningly dark eyes, and his scrawny body was lost in folds ofmetal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before hecould speak, Hathaway said: Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now andwe're capturing your Base. Don't try to fight. We've a thousand menagainst your eighty-five. Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin handstwitched in his lap. You are bluffing, he said, finally, with a firmdirectness. A ship hasn't landed here for an hour. Your ship was thelast. Two people were on it. The last I saw of them they were beingpursued to the death by the Beasts. One of you escaped, it seemed. Both. The other guy went after the Patrol. Impossible! I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther. A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, loungingon carved benches during their time-off, stirred to their feet andstarted yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one sideof his office. He stared, hard. The Patrol was coming! Across the Plaza, marching quietly and decisively, came the Patrol.Five hundred Patrolmen in one long, incredible line, carrying paralysisguns with them in their tight hands. Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air.Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered! Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathawayhad to credit them on that. They took it, standing. Hathaway chuckled inside, deep. What a sweet, sweet shot this was.His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped himfrom filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther wasthrowing a fit, still seated at his desk, unable to move because of hisfragile, bony legs and their atrophied state. Some of the Patrol were killed. Hathaway chuckled again as he saw threeof the Patrolmen clutch at their hearts, crumple, lie on the ground andtwitch. God, what photography! Gunther raged, and swept a small pistol from his linked corselet. Hefired wildly until Hathaway hit him over the head with a paper-weight.Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaostaking place immediately outside his window. The pirates broke and fled, those that were left. A mere handful. Andout of the chaos came Marnagan's voice, Here! <doc-sep>One of the Patrolmen stopped firing, and ran toward Click and theBuilding. He got inside. Did you see them run, Click boy? What anidea. How did we do? Fine, Irish. Fine! So here's Gunther, the spalpeen! Gunther, the little dried up pirate,eh? Marnagan whacked Hathaway on the back. I'll have to hand it toyou, this is the best plan o' battle ever laid out. And proud I was tofight with such splendid men as these— He gestured toward the Plaza. Click laughed with him. You should be proud. Five hundred Patrolmenwith hair like red banners flying, with thick Irish brogues and broadshoulders and freckles and blue eyes and a body as tall as yourstories! Marnagan roared. I always said, I said—if ever there could be anarmy of Marnagans, we could lick the whole damn uneeverse! Did youphotograph it, Click? I did. Hathaway tapped his camera happily. Ah, then, won't that be a scoop for you, boy? Money from the Patrol sothey can use the film as instruction in Classes and money from CosmicFilms for the news-reel headlines! And what a scene, and what acting!Five hundred duplicates of Steve Marnagan, broadcast telepathicallyinto the minds of the pirates, walking across a Plaza, capturing thewhole she-bang! How did you like my death-scenes? You're a ham. And anyway—five hundred duplicates, nothing! saidClick. He ripped the film-spool from the camera, spread it in the airto develop, inserted it in the micro-viewer. Have a look— Marnagan looked. Ah, now. Ah, now, he said over and over. There'sthe Plaza, and there's Gunther's men fighting and then they're turningand running. And what are they running from? One man! Me. IrishMarnagan! Walking all by myself across the lawn, paralyzing them. Oneagainst a hundred, and the cowards running from me! Sure, Click, this is better than I thought. I forgot that the filmwouldn't register telepathic emanations, them other Marnagans. Itmakes it look like I'm a mighty brave man, does it not? It does. Ah,look—look at me, Hathaway, I'm enjoying every minute of it, I am. <doc-sep>Hathaway swatted him on his back-side. Look here, you egocentric sonof Erin, there's more work to be done. More pirates to be captured. ThePatrol is still marching around and someone might be suspicious if theylooked too close and saw all that red hair. All right, Click, we'll clean up the rest of them now. We're acombination, we two, we are. I take it all back about your pictures,Click, if you hadn't thought of taking pictures of me and insertingit into those telepath machines we'd be dead ducks now. Well—here Igo.... Hathaway stopped him. Hold it. Until I load my camera again. Irish grinned. Hurry it up. Here come three guards. They're unarmed.I think I'll handle them with me fists for a change. The gentle art ofuppercuts. Are you ready, Hathaway? Ready. Marnagan lifted his big ham-fists. The camera whirred. Hathaway chuckled, to himself. What a sweet fade-out this was! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of the crash of Hathaway and Marnagan’s ship in the opening scene for the rest of the story?

The crash of Hathaway and Marnagan’s ship is the precipitating event for the events that follow, but it is also more than that. Hathaway states shortly after the crash that the meteor that hit their ship was deliberately aimed at them with force, based on it being “hot and glowing” at the time of the collision. Hathaway hypothesizes at that time that Gunther, the man Marnagan is trying to capture on their mission, had engineered the crash. A short time later, when walking along the surface of the planet, Hathaway notices sudden weight loss. After he and Marnagan test it and confirm that it really happened, they conclude that their ship was not only hit by a meteor, it was dragged down to the planet by an unnatural amount of gravity, more than the planet is generating. They then meet horrifying, dangerous monsters, but these are revealed in short order to be telepathic projections. They are able to dispel the images of the monsters by their own belief that the monsters are not really there, then summon them back by imagining that they are there, but that the monsters cannot harm them. In this way, the monsters lead them to Gunther, who is captured when Marnagan and Hathaway use the telepathic projectors that generated the “monster” images to generate hundreds of images of Marnagan, making it appear that there is an army ready to take over Gunther’s base and capture or kill all his men. All of this flows from the initial crash engineered by Gunther with the propelled meteor and the area of super-gravity that pulled the ship down to the planet. Gunther hoped to make the ship disappear and Marnagan and Hathaway along with it. Instead, they crashed on the single planet where they could find him and had to take on an immediate quest to search for him in order to survive, as they had limited oxygen and needed to find the only other humans on the planet in order to replenish their supply.

What is the significance of the telepathic projectors in the story? [SEP] <s> The Monster Maker By RAY BRADBURY Get Gunther, the official orders read. It was to laugh! For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Suddenly, it was there. There wasn't time to blink or speak or getscared. Click Hathaway's camera was loaded and he stood there listeningto it rack-spin film between his fingers, and he knew he was getting adamned sweet picture of everything that was happening. The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console,wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. And out in thedark of the fore-part there was space and a star-sprinkling and thismeteor coming like blazing fury. Click Hathaway felt the ship move under him like a sensitive animal'sskin. And then the meteor hit. It made a spiked fist and knocked therear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. There was plenty of noise. Too damned much. Hathaway only knew he waspicked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn'tlong in following, swearing loud words. Click remembered hanging on tohis camera and gritting to keep holding it. What a sweet shot that hadbeen of the meteor! A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out ofthe controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. It got quiet. It got so quiet you could almost hear the asteroidsrushing up, cold, blue and hard. You could hear your heart kicking atom-tom between your sick stomach and your empty lungs. Stars, asteroids revolved. Click grabbed Marnagan because he was thenearest thing, and held on. You came hunting for a space-raider and youended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk ofmetal death. What a fade-out! Irish! he heard himself say. Is this IT? Is this what ? yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. Is this where the Big Producer yells CUT!? Marnagan fumed. I'll die when I'm damned good and ready. And when I'mready I'll inform you and you can picture me profile for Cosmic Films! They both waited, thrust against the shipside and held by a hand ofgravity; listening to each other's breathing hard in the earphones. The ship struck, once. Bouncing, it struck again. It turned end overand stopped. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattledaround—human dice in a croupier's cup. The shell of the ship burst,air and energy flung out. Hathaway screamed the air out of his lungs, but his brain was thinkingquick crazy, unimportant things. The best scenes in life never reachfilm, or an audience. Like this one, dammit! Like this one! Hisbrain spun, racketing like the instantaneous, flicking motions of hiscamera. <doc-sep>Silence came and engulfed all the noise, ate it up and swallowed it.Hathaway shook his head, instinctively grabbed at the camera lockedto his mid-belt. There was nothing but stars, twisted wreckage, coldthat pierced through his vac-suit, and silence. He wriggled out of thewreckage into that silence. He didn't know what he was doing until he found the camera in hisfingers as if it had grown there when he was born. He stood there,thinking Well, I'll at least have a few good scenes on film. I'll— A hunk of metal teetered, fell with a crash. Marnagan elevated sevenfeet of bellowing manhood from the wreck. Hold it! cracked Hathaway's high voice. Marnagan froze. The camerawhirred. Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathedfrom asteroid crackup. Swell stuff. I'll get a raise for this! From the toe of me boot! snarled Marnagan brusquely. Oxen shouldersflexed inside his vac-suit. I might've died in there, and you nursin'that film-contraption! Hathaway felt funny inside, suddenly. I never thought of that.Marnagan die? I just took it for granted you'd come through. You alwayshave. Funny, but you don't think about dying. You try not to. Hathawaystared at his gloved hand, but the gloving was so thick and heavy hecouldn't tell if it was shaking. Muscles in his bony face went down,pale. Where are we? A million miles from nobody. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain thatstretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars.Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it looksick. If we walk in opposite directions, Click Hathaway, we'd be shakinghands the other side of this rock in two hours. Marnagan shook his mopof dusty red hair. And I promised the boys at Luna Base this time I'dcapture that Gunther lad! His voice stopped and the silence spoke. Hathaway felt his heart pumping slow, hot pumps of blood. I checkedmy oxygen, Irish. Sixty minutes of breathing left. The silence punctuated that sentence, too. Upon the sharp meteoricrocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supplymashed and scattered. They were lucky to have escaped. Or was suffocation a better death...? Sixty minutes. They stood and looked at one another. Damn that meteor! said Marnagan, hotly. Hathaway got hold of an idea; remembering something. He said it out:Somebody tossed that meteor, Irish. I took a picture of it, lookedit right in the eye when it rolled at us, and it was poker-hot.Space-meteors are never hot and glowing. If it's proof you want, I'vegot it here, on film. Marnagan winced his freckled square of face. It's not proof we neednow, Click. Oxygen. And then food . And then some way back to Earth. Hathaway went on saying his thoughts: This is Gunther's work. He'shere somewhere, probably laughing his guts out at the job he did us.Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get backto Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a piratewhose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally winsthrough to a triumphant finish. Photographed on the spot, in color, byyours truly, Click Hathaway. Cosmic Films, please notice. <doc-sep>They started walking, fast, over the pocked, rubbled plain toward abony ridge of metal. They kept their eyes wide and awake. There wasn'tmuch to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. Marnagan said, We're working on margin, and we got nothin' to sweatwith except your suspicions about this not being an accident. We gotfifty minutes to prove you're right. After that—right or wrong—you'llbe Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. But talk allyou like, Click. It's times like this when we all need words, anywords, on our tongues. You got your camera and your scoop. Talk aboutit. As for me— he twisted his glossy red face. Keeping alive is mehobby. And this sort of two-bit death I did not order. Click nodded. Gunther knows how you'd hate dying this way, Irish.It's irony clean through. That's probably why he planned the meteor andthe crash this way. Marnagan said nothing, but his thick lips went down at the corners, fardown, and the green eyes blazed. They stopped, together. Oops! Click said. Hey! Marnagan blinked. Did you feel that ? Hathaway's body felt feathery, light as a whisper, boneless andlimbless, suddenly. Irish! We lost weight, coming over that ridge! They ran back. Let's try it again. They tried it. They scowled at each other. The same thing happened.Gravity should not act this way, Click. Are you telling me? It's man-made. Better than that—it's Gunther! Nowonder we fell so fast—we were dragged down by a super-gravity set-up!Gunther'd do anything to—did I say anything ? Hathaway leaped backward in reaction. His eyes widened and his handcame up, jabbing. Over a hill-ridge swarmed a brew of unbelievablehorrors. Progeny from Frankenstein's ARK. Immense crimson beasts withnumerous legs and gnashing mandibles, brown-black creatures, sometubular and fat, others like thin white poisonous whips slashing alongin the air. Fangs caught starlight white on them. Hathaway yelled and ran, Marnagan at his heels, lumbering. Sweat brokecold on his body. The immense things rolled, slithered and squirmedafter him. A blast of light. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun. Then, inClick's ears, the Irishman's incredulous bellow. The gun didn't hurtthe creatures at all. Irish! Hathaway flung himself over the ridge, slid down an inclinetoward the mouth a small cave. This way, fella! Hathaway made it first, Marnagan bellowing just behind him. They'retoo big; they can't get us in here! Click's voice gasped it out,as Marnagan squeezed his two-hundred-fifty pounds beside him.Instinctively, Hathaway added, Asteroid monsters! My camera! What ascene! Damn your damn camera! yelled Marnagan. They might come in! Use your gun. They got impervious hides. No use. Gahh! And that was a pretty chase,eh, Click? Yeah. Sure. You enjoyed it, every moment of it. I did that. Irish grinned, showing white uneven teeth. Now, whatwill we be doing with these uninvited guests at our door? Let me think— Lots of time, little man. Forty more minutes of air, to be exact. <doc-sep>They sat, staring at the monsters for about a minute. Hathaway feltfunny about something; didn't know what. Something about these monstersand Gunther and— Which one will you be having? asked Irish, casually. A red one or ablue one? Hathaway laughed nervously. A pink one with yellow ruffles—Good God,now you've got me doing it. Joking in the face of death. Me father taught me; keep laughing and you'll have Irish luck. That didn't please the photographer. I'm an Anglo-Swede, he pointedout. Marnagan shifted uneasily. Here, now. You're doing nothing butsitting, looking like a little boy locked in a bedroom closet, so takeme a profile shot of the beasties and myself. Hathaway petted his camera reluctantly. What in hell's the use? Allthis swell film shot. Nobody'll ever see it. Then, retorted Marnagan, we'll develop it for our own benefit; whilewaitin' for the U.S. Cavalry to come riding over the hill to ourrescue! Hathaway snorted. U.S. Cavalry. Marnagan raised his proton-gun dramatically. Snap me this pose, hesaid. I paid your salary to trot along, photographing, we hoped,my capture of Gunther, now the least you can do is record peacenegotiations betwixt me and these pixies. Marnagan wasn't fooling anybody. Hathaway knew the superficial palaverfor nothing but a covering over the fast, furious thinking runningaround in that red-cropped skull. Hathaway played the palaver, too, buthis mind was whirring faster than his camera as he spun a picture ofMarnagan standing there with a useless gun pointed at the animals. Montage. Marnagan sitting, chatting at the monsters. Marnagan smilingfor the camera. Marnagan in profile. Marnagan looking grim, withoutmuch effort, for the camera. And then, a closeup of the thrashing deathwall that holed them in. Click took them all, those shots, not sayinganything. Nobody fooled nobody with this act. Death was near and theyhad sweaty faces, dry mouths and frozen guts. When Click finished filming, Irish sat down to save oxygen, and used itup arguing about Gunther. Click came back at him: Gunther drew us down here, sure as Ceres! That gravity change we feltback on that ridge, Irish; that proves it. Gunther's short on men. So,what's he do; he builds an asteroid-base, and drags ships down. Spacewar isn't perfect yet, guns don't prime true in space, trajectoryis lousy over long distances. So what's the best weapon, whichdispenses with losing valuable, rare ships and a small bunch of men?Super-gravity and a couple of well-tossed meteors. Saves all around.It's a good front, this damned iron pebble. From it, Gunther strikesunseen; ships simply crash, that's all. A subtle hand, with all aces. Marnagan rumbled. Where is the dirty son, then! He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent—them. Hathaway nodded atthe beasts. People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or fromwounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that—the animalstend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtlehis attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if thePatrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,then. I don't see no Base around. <doc-sep>Click shrugged. Still doubt it? Okay. Look. He tapped his camera anda spool popped out onto his gloved palm. Holding it up, he strippedit out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while itdeveloped, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developingfilm. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical,leaving imprints; the second exposure simply hardened, secured theimpressions. Quick stuff. Inserting the film-tongue into a micro-viewer in the camera's base,Click handed the whole thing over. Look. Marnagan put the viewer up against the helmet glass, squinted. Ah,Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented. Huh? It's a strange process'll develop my picture and ignore the asteroidmonsters complete. What! Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again:Pictures in montage; Marnagan sitting down, chatting conversationallywith nothing ; Marnagan shooting his gun at nothing ; Marnaganpretending to be happy in front of nothing . Then, closeup—of—NOTHING! The monsters had failed to image the film. Marnagan was there, his hairlike a red banner, his freckled face with the blue eyes bright in it.Maybe— Hathaway said it, loud: Irish! Irish! I think I see a way out of thismess! Here— He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film,the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said themonsters weren't there, they weren't there. Yeah, said Marnagan. But step outside this cave— If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid, said Click. Marnagan scowled. You sure them beasts don't radiate ultra-violet orinfra-red or something that won't come out on film? Nuts! Any color we see, the camera sees. We've been fooled. Hey, where you going? Marnagan blocked Hathaway as the smaller mantried pushing past him. Get out of the way, said Hathaway. Marnagan put his big fists on his hips. If anyone is going anywhere,it'll be me does the going. I can't let you do that, Irish. Why not? You'd be going on my say-so. Ain't your say-so good enough for me? Yes. Sure. Of course. I guess— If you say them animals ain't there, that's all I need. Now, standaside, you film-developing flea, and let an Irishman settle theirbones. He took an unnecessary hitch in trousers that didn't existexcept under an inch of porous metal plate. Your express purpose onthis voyage, Hathaway, is taking films to be used by the Patrol laterfor teaching Junior Patrolmen how to act in tough spots. First-handeducation. Poke another spool of film in that contraption and give meprofile a scan. This is lesson number seven: Daniel Walks Into TheLion's Den. Irish, I— Shut up and load up. Hathaway nervously loaded the film-slot, raised it. Ready, Click? I—I guess so, said Hathaway. And remember, think it hard, Irish.Think it hard. There aren't any animals— Keep me in focus, lad. All the way, Irish. What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera! Marnagan held his gun out in front of him and still smiling took one,two, three, four steps out into the outside world. The monsters werewaiting for him at the fifth step. Marnagan kept walking. Right out into the middle of them.... <doc-sep>That was the sweetest shot Hathaway ever took. Marnagan and themonsters! Only now it was only Marnagan. No more monsters. Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. Hey, Click, lookat me! I'm in one piece. Why, hell, the damned things turned tail andran away! Ran, hell! cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed andanimated. They just plain vanished. They were only imaginativefigments! And to think we let them hole us in that way, Click Hathaway, youcoward! Smile when you say that, Irish. Sure, and ain't I always smilin'? Ah, Click boy, are them tears inyour sweet grey eyes? Damn, swore the photographer, embarrassedly. Why don't they putwindow-wipers in these helmets? I'll take it up with the Board, lad. Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in onehunk, I couldn't help—Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are partof his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased backinto their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothingsuspicious about animals. And if the tourists don't leave, the animalskill them. Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill. Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they couldhave frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. Ifthat isn't being dangerous— The Irishman whistled. But, we've got to move , Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen.In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source,Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters. Clickattached his camera to his mid-belt. Gunther probably thinks we'redead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates; they neverhad a chance to disbelieve them. If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click— Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident— Clickstopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head andfelt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steadyhimself, and swayed. I—I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours.This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick. Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. Hold tight, Click. Theguy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach. Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animalscame from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to comeback! Come back? How? They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if webelieve in them again, they'll return. Marnagan didn't like it. Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—ifwe believe in 'em? Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. Not if we believein them to a certain point . Psychologically they can both be seen andfelt. We only want to see them coming at us again. Do we, now? With twenty minutes left, maybe less— All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it? Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. Just think—I will seethe monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them.Think it over and over. Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. And—what if I forget to rememberall that? What if I get excited...? Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking atIrish. Marnagan cursed. All right, lad. Let's have at it! The monsters returned. <doc-sep>A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarmingin malevolent anticipation about the two men. This way, Irish. They come from this way! There's a focal point, asending station for these telepathic brutes. Come on! Hathaway sludged into the pressing tide of color, mouths, contortedfaces, silvery fat bodies misting as he plowed through them. Marnagan was making good progress ahead of Hathaway. But he stopped andraised his gun and made quick moves with it. Click! This one here!It's real! He fell back and something struck him down. His immenseframe slammed against rock, noiselessly. Hathaway darted forward, flung his body over Marnagan's, covered thehelmet glass with his hands, shouting: Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real—don't let it force intoyour mind! It's not real, I tell you! Click— Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass.Click— He was fighting hard. I—I—sure now. Sure— He smiled.It—it's only a shanty fake! Keep saying it, Irish. Keep it up. Marnagan's thick lips opened. It's only a fake, he said. And then,irritated, Get the hell off me, Hathaway. Let me up to my feet! Hathaway got up, shakily. The air in his helmet smelled stale, andlittle bubbles danced in his eyes. Irish, you forget the monsters.Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you mightforget. Marnagan showed his teeth. Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? Andbesides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty. The outpour of animals came from a low lying mound a mile farther on.Evidently the telepathic source lay there. They approached it warily. We'll be taking our chances on guard, hissed Irish. I'll go ahead,draw their attention, maybe get captured. Then, you show up with your gun.... I haven't got one. We'll chance it, then. You stick here until I see what's ahead. Theyprobably got scanners out. Let them see me— And before Hathaway could object, Marnagan walked off. He walked aboutfive hundred yards, bent down, applied his fingers to something, heavedup, and there was a door opening in the rock. His voice came back across the distance, into Click's earphones. Adoor, an air-lock, Click. A tunnel leading down inside! Then, Marnagan dropped into the tunnel, disappearing. Click heard thethud of his feet hitting the metal flooring. Click sucked in his breath, hard and fast. All right, put 'em up! a new harsh voice cried over a differentradio. One of Gunther's guards. Three shots sizzled out, and Marnagan bellowed. The strange harsh voice said, That's better. Don't try and pick thatgun up now. Oh, so it's you. I thought Gunther had finished you off.How'd you get past the animals? Click started running. He switched off his sending audio, kept his receiving on. Marnagan, weaponless. One guard. Click gasped. Thingswere getting dark. Had to have air. Air. Air. He ran and kept runningand listening to Marnagan's lying voice: I tied them pink elephants of Gunther's in neat alphabetical bundlesand stacked them up to dry, ya louse! Marnagan said. But, damn you,they killed my partner before he had a chance! The guard laughed. <doc-sep>The air-lock door was still wide open when Click reached it, his headswimming darkly, his lungs crammed with pain-fire and hell-rockets. Helet himself down in, quiet and soft. He didn't have a weapon. He didn'thave a weapon. Oh, damn, damn! A tunnel curved, ending in light, and two men silhouetted in thatyellow glare. Marnagan, backed against a wall, his helmet cracked,air hissing slowly out of it, his face turning blue. And the guard, aproton gun extended stiffly before him, also in a vac-suit. The guardhad his profile toward Hathaway, his lips twisting: I think I'll letyou stand right there and die, he said quietly. That what Guntherwanted, anway. A nice sordid death. Hathaway took three strides, his hands out in front of him. Don't move! he snapped. I've got a weapon stronger than yours. Onetwitch and I'll blast you and the whole damned wall out from behindyou! Freeze! The guard whirled. He widened his sharp eyes, and reluctantly, droppedhis gun to the floor. Get his gun, Irish. Marnagan made as if to move, crumpled clumsily forward. Hathaway ran in, snatched up the gun, smirked at the guard. Thanks forposing, he said. That shot will go down in film history for candidacting. What! Ah: ah! Keep your place. I've got a real gun now. Where's the doorleading into the Base? The guard moved his head sullenly over his left shoulder. Click was afraid he would show his weak dizziness. He needed air.Okay. Drag Marnagan with you, open the door and we'll have air. Doubletime! Double! Ten minutes later, Marnagan and Hathaway, fresh tanks of oxygen ontheir backs, Marnagan in a fresh bulger and helmet, trussed the guard,hid him in a huge trash receptacle. Where he belongs, observed Irishtersely. They found themselves in a complete inner world; an asteroid nothingmore than a honey-comb fortress sliding through the void unchallenged.Perfect front for a raider who had little equipment and wasshort-handed of men. Gunther simply waited for specific cargo ships torocket by, pulled them or knocked them down and swarmed over them forcargo. The animals served simply to insure against suspicion and theswarms of tourists that filled the void these days. Small fry weren'twanted. They were scared off. The telepathic sending station for the animals was a great bank ofintricate, glittering machine, through which strips of colored filmwith images slid into slots and machine mouths that translated theminto thought-emanations. A damned neat piece of genius. So here we are, still not much better off than we were, growledIrish. We haven't a ship or a space-radio, and more guards'll turnup any moment. You think we could refocus this doohingey, project themonsters inside the asteroid to fool the pirates themselves? What good would that do? Hathaway gnawed his lip. They wouldn't foolthe engineers who created them, you nut. Marnagan exhaled disgustedly. Ah, if only the U.S. Cavalry would comeriding over the hill— <doc-sep>Irish! Hathaway snapped that, his face lighting up. Irish. The U.S.Cavalry it is! His eyes darted over the machines. Here. Help me.We'll stage everything on the most colossal raid of the century. Marnagan winced. You breathing oxygen or whiskey? There's only one stipulation I make, Irish. I want a complete pictureof Marnagan capturing Raider's Base. I want a picture of Gunther's facewhen you do it. Snap it, now, we've got rush work to do. How good anactor are you? That's a silly question. You only have to do three things. Walk with your gun out in front ofyou, firing. That's number one. Number two is to clutch at your heartand fall down dead. Number three is to clutch at your side, fall downand twitch on the ground. Is that clear? Clear as the Coal Sack Nebula.... An hour later Hathaway trudged down a passageway that led out into asort of city street inside the asteroid. There were about six streets,lined with cube houses in yellow metal, ending near Hathaway in awide, green-lawned Plaza. Hathaway, weaponless, idly carrying his camera in one hand, walkedacross the Plaza as if he owned it. He was heading for a building thatwas pretentious enough to be Gunther's quarters. He got halfway there when he felt a gun in his back. He didn't resist. They took him straight ahead to his destination andpushed him into a room where Gunther sat. Hathaway looked at him. So you're Gunther? he said, calmly. Thepirate was incredibly old, his bulging forehead stood out over sunken,questioningly dark eyes, and his scrawny body was lost in folds ofmetal-link cloth. He glanced up from a paper-file, surprised. Before hecould speak, Hathaway said: Everything's over with, Mr. Gunther. The Patrol is in the city now andwe're capturing your Base. Don't try to fight. We've a thousand menagainst your eighty-five. Gunther sat there, blinking at Hathaway, not moving. His thin handstwitched in his lap. You are bluffing, he said, finally, with a firmdirectness. A ship hasn't landed here for an hour. Your ship was thelast. Two people were on it. The last I saw of them they were beingpursued to the death by the Beasts. One of you escaped, it seemed. Both. The other guy went after the Patrol. Impossible! I can't respect your opinion, Mr. Gunther. A shouting rose from the Plaza. About fifty of Gunther's men, loungingon carved benches during their time-off, stirred to their feet andstarted yelling. Gunther turned slowly to the huge window in one sideof his office. He stared, hard. The Patrol was coming! Across the Plaza, marching quietly and decisively, came the Patrol.Five hundred Patrolmen in one long, incredible line, carrying paralysisguns with them in their tight hands. Gunther babbled like a child, his voice a shrill dagger in the air.Get out there, you men! Throw them back! We're outnumbered! Guns flared. But the Patrol came on. Gunther's men didn't run, Hathawayhad to credit them on that. They took it, standing. Hathaway chuckled inside, deep. What a sweet, sweet shot this was.His camera whirred, clicked and whirred again. Nobody stopped himfrom filming it. Everything was too wild, hot and angry. Gunther wasthrowing a fit, still seated at his desk, unable to move because of hisfragile, bony legs and their atrophied state. Some of the Patrol were killed. Hathaway chuckled again as he saw threeof the Patrolmen clutch at their hearts, crumple, lie on the ground andtwitch. God, what photography! Gunther raged, and swept a small pistol from his linked corselet. Hefired wildly until Hathaway hit him over the head with a paper-weight.Then Hathaway took a picture of Gunther slumped at his desk, the chaostaking place immediately outside his window. The pirates broke and fled, those that were left. A mere handful. Andout of the chaos came Marnagan's voice, Here! <doc-sep>One of the Patrolmen stopped firing, and ran toward Click and theBuilding. He got inside. Did you see them run, Click boy? What anidea. How did we do? Fine, Irish. Fine! So here's Gunther, the spalpeen! Gunther, the little dried up pirate,eh? Marnagan whacked Hathaway on the back. I'll have to hand it toyou, this is the best plan o' battle ever laid out. And proud I was tofight with such splendid men as these— He gestured toward the Plaza. Click laughed with him. You should be proud. Five hundred Patrolmenwith hair like red banners flying, with thick Irish brogues and broadshoulders and freckles and blue eyes and a body as tall as yourstories! Marnagan roared. I always said, I said—if ever there could be anarmy of Marnagans, we could lick the whole damn uneeverse! Did youphotograph it, Click? I did. Hathaway tapped his camera happily. Ah, then, won't that be a scoop for you, boy? Money from the Patrol sothey can use the film as instruction in Classes and money from CosmicFilms for the news-reel headlines! And what a scene, and what acting!Five hundred duplicates of Steve Marnagan, broadcast telepathicallyinto the minds of the pirates, walking across a Plaza, capturing thewhole she-bang! How did you like my death-scenes? You're a ham. And anyway—five hundred duplicates, nothing! saidClick. He ripped the film-spool from the camera, spread it in the airto develop, inserted it in the micro-viewer. Have a look— Marnagan looked. Ah, now. Ah, now, he said over and over. There'sthe Plaza, and there's Gunther's men fighting and then they're turningand running. And what are they running from? One man! Me. IrishMarnagan! Walking all by myself across the lawn, paralyzing them. Oneagainst a hundred, and the cowards running from me! Sure, Click, this is better than I thought. I forgot that the filmwouldn't register telepathic emanations, them other Marnagans. Itmakes it look like I'm a mighty brave man, does it not? It does. Ah,look—look at me, Hathaway, I'm enjoying every minute of it, I am. <doc-sep>Hathaway swatted him on his back-side. Look here, you egocentric sonof Erin, there's more work to be done. More pirates to be captured. ThePatrol is still marching around and someone might be suspicious if theylooked too close and saw all that red hair. All right, Click, we'll clean up the rest of them now. We're acombination, we two, we are. I take it all back about your pictures,Click, if you hadn't thought of taking pictures of me and insertingit into those telepath machines we'd be dead ducks now. Well—here Igo.... Hathaway stopped him. Hold it. Until I load my camera again. Irish grinned. Hurry it up. Here come three guards. They're unarmed.I think I'll handle them with me fists for a change. The gentle art ofuppercuts. Are you ready, Hathaway? Ready. Marnagan lifted his big ham-fists. The camera whirred. Hathaway chuckled, to himself. What a sweet fade-out this was! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of the telepathic projectors in the story?

Telepathy plays an interesting role in this story. Rather than telepathy being used by one character to discern the thoughts of another character, as is often the case, we instead have machines creating telepathic projections. It is fitting, then, that since machines are creating the telepathic projections, a machine can also defeat them. The camera does not "see" through interpreting images or trying to understand them. It only records light and shadow. For this reason, it remains unaffected by telepathy--it can only record what is there, not what is projected into the mind.Hathaway and Marnagan become trapped in a small cave by what they believe are dangerous wild beasts. Marnagan asks Hathaway to take his pictures as Marnagan poses against the backdrop of the beasts. When Marnagan looks at the photos and complains that the beasts do not appear, Hathaway realizes that the beasts are not physically real, but only telepathic projections in the men's minds. He and Marnagan are then able to dismiss the beasts and bring them back at will in order to let the projections lead them to their source.Telepathy plays a significant role again when Hathaway and Marnagan formulate a plan to capture Gunther, the person Marnagan is on a mission to capture and the man that caused their crash. While the two of them could easily overpower Gunther if he were alone, there are at least fifty guards with him at his base. Hathaway realizes they can photograph Marnagan in poses as though he's taking over the base and use those images in the telepathic projector against the guards and Gunther. The telepathic projector turns one Marnagan into five hundred, allowing the two men to easily capture the base and Gunther while the guards flee. The guards are likely aware of the telepathic projectors, but do not suspect that Hathaway and Marnagan have managed to turn the projectors to their own ends. By using the projectors, Hathaway and Marnagan are able to turn a very dangerous situation into an easy victory.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> Doctor Universe By CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece didn't worry her—I was the guy he was shooting at. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I was killing an hour in the billiard room of the Spacemen's Club in Swamp City when the Venusian bellboy came and tapped me on theshoulder. Beg pardon, thir, he said with his racial lisp, thereth thome one tothee you in the main lounge. His eyes rolled as he added, A lady! A woman here...! The Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club wherein-coming pilots and crewmen could relax before leaving for anothervoyage. The rule that no females could pass its portals was strictlyenforced. I followed the bellhop down the long corridor that led to the mainlounge. At the threshold I jerked to a halt and stared incredulously. Grannie Annie! There she stood before a frantically gesticulating desk clerk, leaningon her faded green umbrella. A little wisp of a woman clad in avoluminous black dress with one of those doily-like caps on her head,tied by a ribbon under her chin. Her high-topped button shoes wereplanted firmly on the varpla carpet and her wrinkled face was set incalm defiance. I barged across the lounge and seized her hand. Grannie Annie! Ihaven't seen you in two years. Hi, Billy-boy, she greeted calmly. Will you please tell thisfish-face to shut up. The desk clerk went white. Mithter Trenwith, if thith lady ith afriend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. It'th abtholutelyagainth the ruleth.... Okay, okay, I grinned. Look, we'll go into the grille. There's noone there at this hour. In the grille an equally astonished waiter served us—me a lime rickeyand Grannie Annie her usual whisky sour—I waited until she had tossedthe drink off at a gulp before I set off a chain of questions: What the devil are you doing on Venus? Don't you know women aren'tallowed in the Spacemen's ? What happened to the book you werewriting? Hold it, Billy-boy. Laughingly she threw up both hands. Sure, I knewthis place had some antiquated laws. Pure fiddle-faddle, that's whatthey are. Anyway, I've been thrown out of better places. She hadn't changed. To her publishers and her readers she might beAnnabella C. Flowers, author of a long list of science fiction novels.But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year'shat, as modern as an atomic motor. She had probably written more drivelin the name of science fiction than anyone alive. But the public loved it. They ate up her stories, and they clamored formore. Her annual income totaled into six figures, and her publisherssat back and massaged their digits, watching their earnings mount. One thing you had to admit about her books. They may have been dimenovels, but they weren't synthetic. If Annabella C. Flowers wrote anovel, and the locale was the desert of Mars, she packed her carpet bagand hopped a liner for Craterville. If she cooked up a feud between twoexpeditions on Callisto, she went to Callisto. She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. What happened to Guns for Ganymede ? I asked. That was the title ofyour last, wasn't it? <doc-sep>Grannie spilled a few shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftlyrolled herself a cigarette. It wasn't Guns , it was Pistols ; and it wasn't Ganymede , it was Pluto . I grinned. All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universeand beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair. What else is there in science fiction? she demanded. You can't haveyour hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster. Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to herfeet. I almost forgot, Billy-boy. I'm due at the Satellite Theater in tenminutes. Come on, you're going with me. Before I realized it, I was following her through the lounge and out tothe jetty front. Grannie Annie hailed a hydrocar. Five minutes later wedrew up before the big doors of the Satellite . They don't go in for style in Swamp City. A theater to the grizzledcolonials on this side of the planet meant a shack on stilts over themuck, zilcon wood seats and dingy atobide lamps. But the place waspacked with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanitythat made Swamp City the frontier post it is. In front was a big sign. It read: ONE NIGHT ONLY DOCTOR UNIVERSE AND HIS NINE GENIUSES THE QUESTION PROGRAM OF THE SYSTEM As we strode down the aisle a mangy-looking Venusian began to pound atinpan piano in the pit. Grannie Annie pushed me into a seat in thefront row. Sit here, she said. I'm sorry about all this rush, but I'm one ofthe players in this shindig. As soon as the show is over, we'll gosomewhere and talk. She minced lightly down the aisle, climbed thestage steps and disappeared in the wings. That damned fossilized dynamo, I muttered. She'll be the death of meyet. The piano struck a chord in G, and the curtain went rattling up. On thestage four Earthmen, two Martians, two Venusians, and one Mercuriansat on an upraised dais. That is to say, eight of them sat. TheMercurian, a huge lump of granite-like flesh, sprawled there, palpablyuncomfortable. On the right were nine visi sets, each with its newimproved pantascope panel and switchboard. Before each set stood anEarthman operator. <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights. People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts. There was a roar of applause from the Satellite audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued: As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand planetoles . One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers. From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais. The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater: Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury? Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly: Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car. And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner. It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things. The audience in the Satellite seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete. Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction. When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred. A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era. Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth. Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted. In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes. Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted? I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down. The I.P. men aren't strong enough. She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips. What do you mean? <doc-sep>For a moment the old lady sat there in silence; then she leaned back,closed her eyes, and I knew there was a story coming. My last book, Death In The Atom , hit the stands last January,she began. When it was finished I had planned to take a six months'vacation, but those fool publishers of mine insisted I do a sequel.Well, I'd used Mars and Pluto and Ganymede as settings for novels, sofor this one I decided on Venus. I went to Venus City, and I spent sixweeks in-country. I got some swell background material, and I met EzraKarn.... Who? I interrupted. An old prospector who lives out in the deep marsh on the outskirts ofVarsoom country. To make a long story short, I got him talking abouthis adventures, and he told me plenty. The old woman paused. Did you ever hear of the Green Flames? sheasked abruptly. I shook my head. Some new kind of ... It's not a new kind of anything. The Green Flame is a radio-activerock once found on Mercury. The Alpha rays of this rock are similarto radium in that they consist of streams of material particlesprojected at high speed. But the character of the Gamma rays hasnever been completely analyzed. Like those set up by radium, they areelectromagnetic pulsations, but they are also a strange combination of Beta or cathode rays with negatively charged electrons. When any form of life is exposed to these Gamma rays from the GreenFlame rock, they produce in the creature's brain a certain lassitudeand lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this conditiondevelops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership orguidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit ofintolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate,a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug. I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. Now in 2710, as you'd know if you studied your history, the threeplanets of Earth, Venus, and Mars were under governmental bondage. Thecruel dictatorship of Vennox I was short-lived, but it lasted longenough to endanger all civilized life. The archives tell us that one of the first acts of the overthrowinggovernment was to cast out all Green Flames, two of which Vennox hadordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people wasimmediate. Representative government, individual enterprise, freedomfollowed. Grannie Annie lit a cigarette and flipped the match to the floor. To go back to my first trip to Venus. As I said, I met Ezra Karn, anold prospector there in the marsh. Karn told me that on one of histravels into the Varsoom district he had come upon the wreckage ofan old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with GreenFlames! If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed.I said, So what? So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would meanif it were true? Green Flames were supposedly destroyed on all planetsafter the Vennox regime crashed. If a quantity of the rock were inexistence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. Of course, I regarded Karn's story as a wild dream, but it madecorking good story material. I wrote it into a novel, and a week afterit was completed, the manuscript was stolen from my study back onEarth. I see, I said as she lapsed into silence. And now you've come to theconclusion that the details of your story were true and that someone isattempting to put your plot into action. Grannie nodded. Yes, she said. That's exactly what I think. I got my pipe out of my pocket, tamped Martian tobacco into the bowland laughed heartily. The same old Flowers, I said. Tell me, who'syour thief ... Doctor Universe? She regarded me evenly. What makes you say that? I shrugged. The way the theater crowd acted. It all ties in. The old woman shook her head. No, this is a lot bigger than a simplequiz program. The theater crowd was but a cross-section of what ishappening all over the System. There have been riots on Earth and Mars,police officials murdered on Pluto and a demand that government byrepresentation be abolished on Jupiter. The time is ripe for a militarydictator to step in. And you can lay it all to the Green Flames. It seems incredible that asingle shipload of the ore could effect such a wide ranged area, but inmy opinion someone has found a means of making that quantity a thousandtimes more potent and is transmiting it en masse . If it had been anyone but Grannie Annie there before me, I wouldhave called her a fool. And then all at once I got an odd feeling ofapproaching danger. Let's get out of here, I said, getting up. Zinnng-whack! All right! On the mirror behind the bar a small circle with radiating cracksappeared. On the booth wall a scant inch above Grannie's head thefresco seemed to melt away suddenly. A heat ray! Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for thedoor. Outside a driverless hydrocar stood with idling motors. The oldwoman threw herself into the control seat, yanked me in after her andthrew over the starting stud. An instant later we were plunging through the dark night. <doc-sep>Six days after leaving Swamp City we reached Level Five, the lastoutpost of firm ground. Ahead lay the inner marsh, stretching as far asthe eye could reach. Low islands projected at intervals from the thickwater. Mold balls, two feet across, drifted down from the slate-graysky like puffs of cotton. We had traveled this far by ganet , the tough little two headed packanimal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would havehad its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic forcebelt that encircled the planet's equator. Now our drivers changed toboatmen, and we loaded our supplies into three clumsy jagua canoes. It was around the camp fire that night that Grannie took me into herconfidence for the first time since we had left Swamp City. We're heading directly for Varsoom country, she said. If we findEzra Karn so much the better. If we don't, we follow his directions tothe lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. Yousee, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from theship. Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hourstossing restlessly. The thousand sounds of the blue marsh dronedsteadily. And the news broadcast I had heard over the portable visijust before retiring still lingered in my mind. To a casual observerthat broadcast would have meant little, a slight rebellion here, anisolated crime there. But viewed from the perspective Grannie hadgiven me, everything dovetailed. The situation on Jupiter was swiftlycoming to a head. Not only had the people on that planet demanded thatrepresentative government be abolished, but a forum was now being heldto find a leader who might take complete dictatorial control. Outside a whisper-worm hissed softly. I got up and strode out of mytent. For some time I stood there, lost in thought. Could I believeGrannie's incredible story? Or was this another of her fantastic plotswhich she had skilfully blended into a novel? Abruptly I stiffened. The familiar drone of the marsh was gone. In itsplace a ringing silence blanketed everything. And then out in the gloom a darker shadow appeared, moving inundulating sweeps toward the center of the camp. Fascinated, I watchedit advance and retreat, saw two hyalescent eyes swim out of the murk.It charged, and with but a split second to act, I threw myself flat.There was a rush of mighty wings as the thing swept over me. Sharptalons raked my clothing. Again it came, and again I rolled swiftly,missing the thing by the narrowest of margins. From the tent opposite a gaunt figure clad in a familiar dressappeared. Grannie gave a single warning: Stand still! The thing in the darkness turned like a cam on a rod and drove at usagain. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery ofpurple flame shot outward. A horrible soul-chilling scream rent theair. A moment later something huge and heavy scrabbled across theground and shot aloft. Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. I stood frozen as the diminuendo of its wild cries echoed back to me. In heaven's name, what was it? Hunter-bird, Grannie said calmly. A form of avian life found herein the swamp. Harmless in its wild state, but when captured, it can betrained to pursue a quarry until it kills. It has a single unit brainand follows with a relentless purpose. Then that would mean...? That it was sent by our enemy, the same enemy that shot at us in thecafe in Swamp City. Exactly. Grannie Annie halted at the door of hertent and faced me with earnest eyes. Billy-boy, our every move isbeing watched. From now on it's the survival of the fittest. <doc-sep>The following day was our seventh in the swamp. The water hereresembled a vast mosaic, striped and cross-striped with long windingribbons of yellowish substance that floated a few inches below thesurface. The mold balls coming into contact with the evonium water ofthe swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesivemulti-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours.The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped hishand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured ina matter of seconds. At high noon by my Earth watch I sighted a low white structure on oneof the distant islands. Moments later we made a landing at a rudejetty, and Grannie Annie was introducing me to Ezra Karn. He was not as old a man as I had expected, but he was ragged andunkempt with iron gray hair falling almost to his shoulders. He wasdressed in varpa cloth, the Venus equivalent of buckskin, and on hishead was an enormous flop-brimmed hat. Glad to meet you, he said, shaking my hand. Any friend of MissFlowers is a friend of mine. He ushered us down the catwalk into hishut. The place was a two room affair, small but comfortable. The latesttype of visi set in one corner showed that Karn was not isolated fromcivilization entirely. Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained theobject of our trip, the prospector became thoughtful. Green Flames, eh? he repeated slowly. Well yes, I suppose I couldfind that space ship again. That is, if I wanted to. What do you mean? Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself acigarette. You know where it is, don't you? Ye-s, Karn nodded. But like I told you before, that ship lies inVarsoom country, and that isn't exactly a summer vacation spot. What are the Varsoom? I asked. A native tribe? Karn shook his head. They're a form of life that's never been seen byEarthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy. Dangerous? Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outsideof myself was the explorer, Darthier, three years ago. I got awaybecause I was alone, and they didn't notice me, and Darthier escapedbecause he made 'em laugh. Laugh? A scowl crossed Grannie's face. That's right, Karn said. The Varsoom have a strange nervous reactionthat's manifested by laughing. But just what it is that makes themlaugh, I don't know. Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut.Several mold guns were borrowed from the prospector's supply to arm theVenusians. And then as we were about to leave, Karn suddenly turned. The Doctor Universe program, he said. I ain't missed one in months.You gotta wait 'til I hear it. Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. Heflipped a stud, twisted a dial and a moment later was leaning back in achair, listening with avid interest. It was the same show I had witnessed back in Swamp City. Once again Iheard questions filter in from the far outposts of the System. Onceagain I saw the commanding figure of the quiz master as he strode backand forth across the stage. And as I sat there, looking into the visiscreen, a curious numbing drowsiness seemed to steal over me and leadmy thoughts far away. <doc-sep>Half an hour later we headed into the unknown. The Venusian boatmenwere ill-at-ease now and jabbered among themselves constantly. Wecamped that night on a miserable little island where insects swarmedabout us in hordes. The next day an indefinable wave of weariness anddespondency beset our entire party. I caught myself musing over thefutility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept mefrom turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning,that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. After that I lost track of time. Day after day of incessant rain ... ofsteaming swamp.... But at length we reached firm ground and began ouradvance on foot. It was Karn who first sighted the ship. Striding in the lead, hesuddenly halted at the top of a hill and leveled his arm before him.There it lay, a huge cigar-shaped vessel of blackened arelium steel,half buried in the swamp soil. What's that thing on top? Karn demanded, puzzled. A rectangular metal envelope had been constructed over the sternquarters of the ship. Above this structure were three tall masts. Andsuspended between them was a network of copper wire studded with whiteinsulators. Grannie gazed a long moment through binoculars. Billy-boy, take threeVenusians and head across the knoll, she ordered. Ezra and I willcircle in from the west. Fire a gun if you strike trouble. But we found no trouble. The scene before us lay steeped in silence.Moments later our two parties converged at the base of the great ship. A metal ladder extended from the envelope down the side of the vessel.Mid-way we could see a circular hatch-like door. Up we go, Billy-boy. Heat gun in readiness, Grannie Annie began toclimb slowly. The silence remained absolute. We reached the door and pulled it open.There was no sign of life. Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble here, Ezra Karn observed. Somebody had. Before us stretched a narrow corridor, flanked on theleft side by a wall of impenetrable stepto glass. The corridor wasbare of furnishings. But beyond the glass, revealed to us in mockingclarity, was a high panel, studded with dials and gauges. Even as welooked, we could see liquid pulse in glass tubes, indicator needlesswing slowly to and fro. Grannie nodded. Some kind of a broadcasting unit. The Green Flames inthe lower hold are probably exposed to a tholpane plate and theirradiations stepped up by an electro-phosicalic process. Karn raised the butt of his pistol and brought it crashing against theglass wall. His arm jumped in recoil, but the glass remained intact. You'll never do it that way, Grannie said. Nothing short of anatomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are noguards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if theGreen Flames are more accessible. In the lower hold disappointment again confronted us. Visible inthe feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in thevessel's hull were tiers of rectangular ingots of green iridescent ore.Suspended by insulators from the ceiling over them was a thick metalplate. But between was a barrier. A wall of impenetrable stepto glass. Grannie stamped her foot. It's maddening, she said. Here we are atthe crux of the whole matter, and we're powerless to make a singlemove. <doc-sep>Outside the day was beginning to wane. The Venusians, apparentlyunawed by the presence of the space ship, had already started a fireand erected the tents. We left the vessel to find a spell of broodingdesolation heavy over the improvised camp. And the evening meal thistime was a gloomy affair. When it was finished, Ezra Karn lit his pipeand switched on the portable visi set. A moment later the silence ofthe march was broken by the opening fanfare of the Doctor Universeprogram. Great stuff, Karn commented. I sent in a couple of questions once,but I never did win nothin'. This Doctor Universe is a great guy. Oughtto make him king or somethin'. For a moment none of us made reply. Then suddenly Grannie Annie leapedto her feet. Say that again! she cried. The old prospector looked startled. Why, I only said they ought tomake this Doctor Universe the big boss and.... That's it! Grannie paced ten yards off into the gathering darknessand returned quickly. Billy-boy, you were right. The man behind this is Doctor Universe. It was he who stole my manuscript and devised amethod to amplify the radiations of the Green Flames in the freighter'shold. He lit on a sure-fire plan to broadcast those radiations in sucha way that millions of persons would be exposed to them simultaneously.Don't you see? I didn't see, but Grannie hurried on. What better way to expose civilized life to the Green Flamesradiations than when the people are in a state of relaxation. TheDoctor Universe quiz program. The whole System tuned in on them, butthey were only a blind to cover up the transmission of the radiationsfrom the ore. Their power must have been amplified a thousandfold, andtheir wave-length must lie somewhere between light and the supersonicscale in that transition band which so far has defied exploration.... But with what motive? I demanded. Why should...? Power! the old woman answered. The old thirst for dictatorialcontrol of the masses. By presenting himself as an intellectual genius,Doctor Universe utilized a bizarre method to intrench himself in theminds of the people. Oh, don't you see, Billy-boy? The Green Flames'radiations spell doom to freedom, individual liberty. I sat there stupidly, wondering if this all were some wild dream. And then, as I looked across at Grannie Annie, the vague light over thetents seemed to shift a little, as if one layer of the atmosphere haddropped away to be replaced by another. There it was again, a definite movement in the air. Somehow I got theimpression I was looking around that space rather than through it. Andsimultaneously Ezra Karn uttered a howl of pain. An instant later theold prospector was rolling over and over, threshing his arms wildly. An invisible sledge hammer descended on my shoulder. The blow wasfollowed by another and another. Heavy unseen hands held me down.Opposite me Grannie Annie and the Venusians were suffering similarpunishment, the latter screaming in pain and bewilderment. It's the Varsoom! Ezra Karn yelled. We've got to make 'em laugh. Ouronly escape is to make 'em laugh! He struggled to his feet and began leaping wildly around the camp fire.Abruptly his foot caught on a log protruding from the fire; he trippedand fell headlong into a mass of hot coals and ashes. Like a jumpingjack he was on his feet again, clawing dirt and soot from his eyes. Out of the empty space about us there came a sudden hush. The unseenblows ceased in mid-career. And then the silence was rent by wildlaughter. Peal after peal of mirthful yells pounded against our ears.For many moments it continued; then it died away, and everything waspeaceful once more. Grannie Annie picked herself up slowly. That was close, she said. Iwouldn't want to go through that again. Ezra Karn nursed an ugly welt under one eye. Those Varsoom got a funnysense of humor, he growled. <doc-sep>Inside the freighter's narrow corridor Grannie faced me with eyesfilled with excitement. Billy-boy, she said, we've got two problems now. We've got to stopDoctor Universe, and we've got to find a way of getting out of here.Right now we're nicely bottled up. As if in answer to her words the visi set revealed the face of the quizmaster on the screen. He was saying: Remember tomorrow at this same hour I will have a message ofunparalleled importance for the people of the nine planets. Tomorrownight I urge you, I command you, to tune in. With a whistling intake of breath the old woman turned to one of theVenusians. Bring all our equipment in here, she ordered. Hurry! She untied the ribbon under her chin and took off her cap. She rolledup her sleeves, and as the Venusians came marching into the space shipwith bundles of equipment, she fell to work. Silently Ezra Karn and I watched her. First she completely dismantledthe visi set, put it together again with an entirely altered hookup.Next she unrolled a coil of flexible copper mesh which we had broughtalong as a protective electrical screening against the marsh insects.She fastened rubberite suction cups to this mesh at intervals of everytwelve inches or more, carried it down to the freighter's hold andfastened it securely against the stepto glass wall. Trailing a three-ply conduit up from the hold to the corridor sheselected an induction coil, several Micro-Wellman tubes and a quantityof wire from a box of spare parts. Dexterously her fingers moved in andout, fashioning a complicated and curious piece of apparatus. At length she finished. It's pretty hay-wire, she said, but I think it will work. Now I'lltell you what I'm going to do. When Doctor Universe broadcasts tomorrownight, he's going to announce that he has set himself up as supremedictator. He'll have the Green Flame radiations coming from this shipunder full power. I'm going to insert into his broadcast—the laughingof the Varsoom! You're going to what? Broadcast the mass laughter from those invisible creatures out there.Visualize it, Billy-boy! At the dramatic moment when Doctor Universemakes his plea for System-wide power, he will be accompanied by wildpeals of laughter. The whole broadcast will be turned into a burlesque. How you going to make 'em laugh? interrupted Karn. We must think of a way, Grannie replied soberly. I, for one, am glad that no representative of the InterstellarPsychiatry Society witnessed our antics during the early hours of thatmorning and on into the long reaches of the afternoon, as we vainlytried to provoke the laughter of the Varsoom. All to no avail. Uttersilence greeted our efforts. And the time was growing close to thescheduled Doctor Universe program. Ezra Karn wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. Maybe we've gotto attract their attention first, he suggested. Miss Flowers, whydon't you go up on the roof and read to 'em? Read 'em something fromone of your books, if you've got one along. That ought to make 'em situp and take notice. For a moment the old woman gazed at him in silence. Then she got to herfeet quickly. I'll do it, she said. I'll read them the attack scene from MurderOn A Space Liner . <doc-sep>It didn't make sense, of course. But nothing made sense in this madventure. Grannie Annie opened her duffel bag and drew out a copy ofher most popular book. With the volume under her arm, she mounted theladder to the top of the envelope. Ezra Karn rigged up a radite searchlamp, and a moment later the old woman stood in the center of a circleof white radiance. Karn gripped my arm. This is it, he said tensely. If this fails ... His voice clipped off as Grannie began to read. She read slowlyat first, then intoned the words and sentences faster and moredramatically. And out in the swamp a vast hush fell as if unseen ears were listening. ... the space liner was over on her beam ends now as another shotfrom the raider's vessel crashed into the stern hold. In the controlcabin Cuthbert Strong twisted vainly at his bonds as he sought to freehimself. Opposite him, lashed by strong Martian vinta ropes to thegravascope, Louise Belmont sobbed softly, wringing her hands in muteappeal. A restless rustling sounded out in the marsh, as if hundreds of bodieswere surging closer. Karn nodded in awe. She's got 'em! he whispered. Listen. They're eatin' up every word. I heard it then, and I thought I must be dreaming. From somewhere outin the swamp a sound rose into the thick air. A high-pitched chuckle,it was. The chuckle came again. Now it was followed by another andanother. An instant later a wave of low subdued laughter rose into theair. Ezra Karn gulped. Gripes! he said. They're laughing already. They're laughing at her book! And look, the old lady's gettin' sore. Up on the roof of the envelope Grannie Annie halted her reading toglare savagely out into the darkness. The laughter was a roar now. It rose louder and louder, peal after pealof mirthful yells and hysterical shouts. And for the first time in mylife, I saw Annabella C. Flowers mad. She stamped her foot; she shookher fist at the unseen hordes out before her. Ignorant slap-happy fools! she screamed. You don't know good sciencefiction when you hear it. I turned to Karn and said quietly, Turn on the visi set. DoctorUniverse should be broadcasting now. Tune your microphone to pull inas much of that laughter as you can. <doc-sep>It took three weeks to make the return trip to Swamp City. The Varsoomfollowed us far beyond the frontier of their country like an unseenarmy in the throes of laughing gas. Not until we reached Level Five didthe last chuckle fade into the distance. All during that trek back, Grannie sat in the dugout, staring silentlyout before her. But when we reached Swamp City, the news was flung at us from allsides. One newspaper headline accurately told the story: DOCTORUNIVERSE BID FOR SYSTEM DICTATORSHIP SQUELCHED BY RIDICULE OF UNSEENAUDIENCE. QUIZ MASTER NOW IN HANDS OF I.P. COUP FAILURE. Grannie, I said that night as we sat again in a rear booth of THEJET, what are you going to do now? Give up writing science fiction? She looked at me soberly, then broke into a smile. Just because some silly form of life that can't even be seen doesn'tappreciate it? I should say not. Right now I've got an idea for a swellyarn about Mars. Want to come along while I dig up some backgroundmaterial? I shook my head. Not me, I said. But I knew I would. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Grannie Annie, a prolific science fiction novelist, goes to see Billy at a men’s club. The two sit down to have a drink in an empty portion of the club, but they only have a minute to chat before Grannie Annie remembers she has an appointment at the Satellite Theater. She insists that Billy come with her. Grannie Annie forces Billy to take a seat in the audience, and she takes her place backstage. The show is called “Doctor Universe and His Nine Geniuses,” and it’s a type of gameshow. People and creatures on nine different planets tune into the program, and they ask the geniuses questions. If the show’s experts cannot answer the question, the listener gets a sum of money. Grannie Annie is there to serve as the guest star. The show goes off without a hitch. The only remarkable thing that Billy notices is that the audience appears to be mesmerized by Dr. Universe. Grannie Annie tells Billy that while she was writing a sequel to her latest novel, she met Ezra Karn, and he told her about the Green Flames. The Green Flame is a radioactive rock originally found on Mercury, and the rock’s Gamma Rays have the power to make people and creatures have a strong desire for a leader. Grannie Annie included these fantastical ideas in her recent novel, but her manuscript was stolen. Now, she’s concerned that the rocks and rays will be used by an authoritarian leader. In the middle of their conversation, Grannie Annie and Billy are attacked by someone with a heat ray. The pair leaves Swamp City, followed by the enemy. They travel and find Ezra Karn in his home. Karn takes his friends to the spaceship where the Green Flames are stored. The precious resource is behind impenetrable glass, and it’s clear that whoever controls it made sure it was safe. Karn is an avid Doctor Universe fan, and he off-handedly tells Grannie Annie and Billy that they ought to make the man the king. Grannie Annie realizes that Doctor Universe is in fact the person hoarding the Green Flames, and he’s using his quiz show to control the minds of the masses so that he can take over as dictator. Without warning, Billy and his friends feel an invisible force pushing them and holding down their bodies. They recognize force as the Varsoom, and the only way to stop it is to make them laugh. Grannie Annie builds a machine that allows the group to interrupt Doctor Universe’s broadcast. When Doctor Universe comes on the radio again, Grannie Annie reads one of her science fiction books to the invisible creatures. The plan works, and the Varsoom laugh wildly, which ruins the Doctor’s plans to take over the universe. Grannie Annie says it won’t deter her from writing her novels, and she invites Billy to come along for the research portion of her next project.

Describe the character of Grannie Annie [SEP] <s> Doctor Universe By CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece didn't worry her—I was the guy he was shooting at. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I was killing an hour in the billiard room of the Spacemen's Club in Swamp City when the Venusian bellboy came and tapped me on theshoulder. Beg pardon, thir, he said with his racial lisp, thereth thome one tothee you in the main lounge. His eyes rolled as he added, A lady! A woman here...! The Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club wherein-coming pilots and crewmen could relax before leaving for anothervoyage. The rule that no females could pass its portals was strictlyenforced. I followed the bellhop down the long corridor that led to the mainlounge. At the threshold I jerked to a halt and stared incredulously. Grannie Annie! There she stood before a frantically gesticulating desk clerk, leaningon her faded green umbrella. A little wisp of a woman clad in avoluminous black dress with one of those doily-like caps on her head,tied by a ribbon under her chin. Her high-topped button shoes wereplanted firmly on the varpla carpet and her wrinkled face was set incalm defiance. I barged across the lounge and seized her hand. Grannie Annie! Ihaven't seen you in two years. Hi, Billy-boy, she greeted calmly. Will you please tell thisfish-face to shut up. The desk clerk went white. Mithter Trenwith, if thith lady ith afriend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. It'th abtholutelyagainth the ruleth.... Okay, okay, I grinned. Look, we'll go into the grille. There's noone there at this hour. In the grille an equally astonished waiter served us—me a lime rickeyand Grannie Annie her usual whisky sour—I waited until she had tossedthe drink off at a gulp before I set off a chain of questions: What the devil are you doing on Venus? Don't you know women aren'tallowed in the Spacemen's ? What happened to the book you werewriting? Hold it, Billy-boy. Laughingly she threw up both hands. Sure, I knewthis place had some antiquated laws. Pure fiddle-faddle, that's whatthey are. Anyway, I've been thrown out of better places. She hadn't changed. To her publishers and her readers she might beAnnabella C. Flowers, author of a long list of science fiction novels.But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year'shat, as modern as an atomic motor. She had probably written more drivelin the name of science fiction than anyone alive. But the public loved it. They ate up her stories, and they clamored formore. Her annual income totaled into six figures, and her publisherssat back and massaged their digits, watching their earnings mount. One thing you had to admit about her books. They may have been dimenovels, but they weren't synthetic. If Annabella C. Flowers wrote anovel, and the locale was the desert of Mars, she packed her carpet bagand hopped a liner for Craterville. If she cooked up a feud between twoexpeditions on Callisto, she went to Callisto. She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. What happened to Guns for Ganymede ? I asked. That was the title ofyour last, wasn't it? <doc-sep>Grannie spilled a few shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftlyrolled herself a cigarette. It wasn't Guns , it was Pistols ; and it wasn't Ganymede , it was Pluto . I grinned. All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universeand beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair. What else is there in science fiction? she demanded. You can't haveyour hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster. Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to herfeet. I almost forgot, Billy-boy. I'm due at the Satellite Theater in tenminutes. Come on, you're going with me. Before I realized it, I was following her through the lounge and out tothe jetty front. Grannie Annie hailed a hydrocar. Five minutes later wedrew up before the big doors of the Satellite . They don't go in for style in Swamp City. A theater to the grizzledcolonials on this side of the planet meant a shack on stilts over themuck, zilcon wood seats and dingy atobide lamps. But the place waspacked with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanitythat made Swamp City the frontier post it is. In front was a big sign. It read: ONE NIGHT ONLY DOCTOR UNIVERSE AND HIS NINE GENIUSES THE QUESTION PROGRAM OF THE SYSTEM As we strode down the aisle a mangy-looking Venusian began to pound atinpan piano in the pit. Grannie Annie pushed me into a seat in thefront row. Sit here, she said. I'm sorry about all this rush, but I'm one ofthe players in this shindig. As soon as the show is over, we'll gosomewhere and talk. She minced lightly down the aisle, climbed thestage steps and disappeared in the wings. That damned fossilized dynamo, I muttered. She'll be the death of meyet. The piano struck a chord in G, and the curtain went rattling up. On thestage four Earthmen, two Martians, two Venusians, and one Mercuriansat on an upraised dais. That is to say, eight of them sat. TheMercurian, a huge lump of granite-like flesh, sprawled there, palpablyuncomfortable. On the right were nine visi sets, each with its newimproved pantascope panel and switchboard. Before each set stood anEarthman operator. <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights. People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts. There was a roar of applause from the Satellite audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued: As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand planetoles . One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers. From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais. The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater: Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury? Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly: Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car. And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner. It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things. The audience in the Satellite seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete. Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction. When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred. A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era. Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth. Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted. In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes. Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted? I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down. The I.P. men aren't strong enough. She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips. What do you mean? <doc-sep>For a moment the old lady sat there in silence; then she leaned back,closed her eyes, and I knew there was a story coming. My last book, Death In The Atom , hit the stands last January,she began. When it was finished I had planned to take a six months'vacation, but those fool publishers of mine insisted I do a sequel.Well, I'd used Mars and Pluto and Ganymede as settings for novels, sofor this one I decided on Venus. I went to Venus City, and I spent sixweeks in-country. I got some swell background material, and I met EzraKarn.... Who? I interrupted. An old prospector who lives out in the deep marsh on the outskirts ofVarsoom country. To make a long story short, I got him talking abouthis adventures, and he told me plenty. The old woman paused. Did you ever hear of the Green Flames? sheasked abruptly. I shook my head. Some new kind of ... It's not a new kind of anything. The Green Flame is a radio-activerock once found on Mercury. The Alpha rays of this rock are similarto radium in that they consist of streams of material particlesprojected at high speed. But the character of the Gamma rays hasnever been completely analyzed. Like those set up by radium, they areelectromagnetic pulsations, but they are also a strange combination of Beta or cathode rays with negatively charged electrons. When any form of life is exposed to these Gamma rays from the GreenFlame rock, they produce in the creature's brain a certain lassitudeand lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this conditiondevelops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership orguidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit ofintolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate,a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug. I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. Now in 2710, as you'd know if you studied your history, the threeplanets of Earth, Venus, and Mars were under governmental bondage. Thecruel dictatorship of Vennox I was short-lived, but it lasted longenough to endanger all civilized life. The archives tell us that one of the first acts of the overthrowinggovernment was to cast out all Green Flames, two of which Vennox hadordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people wasimmediate. Representative government, individual enterprise, freedomfollowed. Grannie Annie lit a cigarette and flipped the match to the floor. To go back to my first trip to Venus. As I said, I met Ezra Karn, anold prospector there in the marsh. Karn told me that on one of histravels into the Varsoom district he had come upon the wreckage ofan old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with GreenFlames! If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed.I said, So what? So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would meanif it were true? Green Flames were supposedly destroyed on all planetsafter the Vennox regime crashed. If a quantity of the rock were inexistence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. Of course, I regarded Karn's story as a wild dream, but it madecorking good story material. I wrote it into a novel, and a week afterit was completed, the manuscript was stolen from my study back onEarth. I see, I said as she lapsed into silence. And now you've come to theconclusion that the details of your story were true and that someone isattempting to put your plot into action. Grannie nodded. Yes, she said. That's exactly what I think. I got my pipe out of my pocket, tamped Martian tobacco into the bowland laughed heartily. The same old Flowers, I said. Tell me, who'syour thief ... Doctor Universe? She regarded me evenly. What makes you say that? I shrugged. The way the theater crowd acted. It all ties in. The old woman shook her head. No, this is a lot bigger than a simplequiz program. The theater crowd was but a cross-section of what ishappening all over the System. There have been riots on Earth and Mars,police officials murdered on Pluto and a demand that government byrepresentation be abolished on Jupiter. The time is ripe for a militarydictator to step in. And you can lay it all to the Green Flames. It seems incredible that asingle shipload of the ore could effect such a wide ranged area, but inmy opinion someone has found a means of making that quantity a thousandtimes more potent and is transmiting it en masse . If it had been anyone but Grannie Annie there before me, I wouldhave called her a fool. And then all at once I got an odd feeling ofapproaching danger. Let's get out of here, I said, getting up. Zinnng-whack! All right! On the mirror behind the bar a small circle with radiating cracksappeared. On the booth wall a scant inch above Grannie's head thefresco seemed to melt away suddenly. A heat ray! Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for thedoor. Outside a driverless hydrocar stood with idling motors. The oldwoman threw herself into the control seat, yanked me in after her andthrew over the starting stud. An instant later we were plunging through the dark night. <doc-sep>Six days after leaving Swamp City we reached Level Five, the lastoutpost of firm ground. Ahead lay the inner marsh, stretching as far asthe eye could reach. Low islands projected at intervals from the thickwater. Mold balls, two feet across, drifted down from the slate-graysky like puffs of cotton. We had traveled this far by ganet , the tough little two headed packanimal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would havehad its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic forcebelt that encircled the planet's equator. Now our drivers changed toboatmen, and we loaded our supplies into three clumsy jagua canoes. It was around the camp fire that night that Grannie took me into herconfidence for the first time since we had left Swamp City. We're heading directly for Varsoom country, she said. If we findEzra Karn so much the better. If we don't, we follow his directions tothe lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. Yousee, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from theship. Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hourstossing restlessly. The thousand sounds of the blue marsh dronedsteadily. And the news broadcast I had heard over the portable visijust before retiring still lingered in my mind. To a casual observerthat broadcast would have meant little, a slight rebellion here, anisolated crime there. But viewed from the perspective Grannie hadgiven me, everything dovetailed. The situation on Jupiter was swiftlycoming to a head. Not only had the people on that planet demanded thatrepresentative government be abolished, but a forum was now being heldto find a leader who might take complete dictatorial control. Outside a whisper-worm hissed softly. I got up and strode out of mytent. For some time I stood there, lost in thought. Could I believeGrannie's incredible story? Or was this another of her fantastic plotswhich she had skilfully blended into a novel? Abruptly I stiffened. The familiar drone of the marsh was gone. In itsplace a ringing silence blanketed everything. And then out in the gloom a darker shadow appeared, moving inundulating sweeps toward the center of the camp. Fascinated, I watchedit advance and retreat, saw two hyalescent eyes swim out of the murk.It charged, and with but a split second to act, I threw myself flat.There was a rush of mighty wings as the thing swept over me. Sharptalons raked my clothing. Again it came, and again I rolled swiftly,missing the thing by the narrowest of margins. From the tent opposite a gaunt figure clad in a familiar dressappeared. Grannie gave a single warning: Stand still! The thing in the darkness turned like a cam on a rod and drove at usagain. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery ofpurple flame shot outward. A horrible soul-chilling scream rent theair. A moment later something huge and heavy scrabbled across theground and shot aloft. Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. I stood frozen as the diminuendo of its wild cries echoed back to me. In heaven's name, what was it? Hunter-bird, Grannie said calmly. A form of avian life found herein the swamp. Harmless in its wild state, but when captured, it can betrained to pursue a quarry until it kills. It has a single unit brainand follows with a relentless purpose. Then that would mean...? That it was sent by our enemy, the same enemy that shot at us in thecafe in Swamp City. Exactly. Grannie Annie halted at the door of hertent and faced me with earnest eyes. Billy-boy, our every move isbeing watched. From now on it's the survival of the fittest. <doc-sep>The following day was our seventh in the swamp. The water hereresembled a vast mosaic, striped and cross-striped with long windingribbons of yellowish substance that floated a few inches below thesurface. The mold balls coming into contact with the evonium water ofthe swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesivemulti-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours.The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped hishand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured ina matter of seconds. At high noon by my Earth watch I sighted a low white structure on oneof the distant islands. Moments later we made a landing at a rudejetty, and Grannie Annie was introducing me to Ezra Karn. He was not as old a man as I had expected, but he was ragged andunkempt with iron gray hair falling almost to his shoulders. He wasdressed in varpa cloth, the Venus equivalent of buckskin, and on hishead was an enormous flop-brimmed hat. Glad to meet you, he said, shaking my hand. Any friend of MissFlowers is a friend of mine. He ushered us down the catwalk into hishut. The place was a two room affair, small but comfortable. The latesttype of visi set in one corner showed that Karn was not isolated fromcivilization entirely. Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained theobject of our trip, the prospector became thoughtful. Green Flames, eh? he repeated slowly. Well yes, I suppose I couldfind that space ship again. That is, if I wanted to. What do you mean? Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself acigarette. You know where it is, don't you? Ye-s, Karn nodded. But like I told you before, that ship lies inVarsoom country, and that isn't exactly a summer vacation spot. What are the Varsoom? I asked. A native tribe? Karn shook his head. They're a form of life that's never been seen byEarthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy. Dangerous? Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outsideof myself was the explorer, Darthier, three years ago. I got awaybecause I was alone, and they didn't notice me, and Darthier escapedbecause he made 'em laugh. Laugh? A scowl crossed Grannie's face. That's right, Karn said. The Varsoom have a strange nervous reactionthat's manifested by laughing. But just what it is that makes themlaugh, I don't know. Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut.Several mold guns were borrowed from the prospector's supply to arm theVenusians. And then as we were about to leave, Karn suddenly turned. The Doctor Universe program, he said. I ain't missed one in months.You gotta wait 'til I hear it. Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. Heflipped a stud, twisted a dial and a moment later was leaning back in achair, listening with avid interest. It was the same show I had witnessed back in Swamp City. Once again Iheard questions filter in from the far outposts of the System. Onceagain I saw the commanding figure of the quiz master as he strode backand forth across the stage. And as I sat there, looking into the visiscreen, a curious numbing drowsiness seemed to steal over me and leadmy thoughts far away. <doc-sep>Half an hour later we headed into the unknown. The Venusian boatmenwere ill-at-ease now and jabbered among themselves constantly. Wecamped that night on a miserable little island where insects swarmedabout us in hordes. The next day an indefinable wave of weariness anddespondency beset our entire party. I caught myself musing over thefutility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept mefrom turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning,that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. After that I lost track of time. Day after day of incessant rain ... ofsteaming swamp.... But at length we reached firm ground and began ouradvance on foot. It was Karn who first sighted the ship. Striding in the lead, hesuddenly halted at the top of a hill and leveled his arm before him.There it lay, a huge cigar-shaped vessel of blackened arelium steel,half buried in the swamp soil. What's that thing on top? Karn demanded, puzzled. A rectangular metal envelope had been constructed over the sternquarters of the ship. Above this structure were three tall masts. Andsuspended between them was a network of copper wire studded with whiteinsulators. Grannie gazed a long moment through binoculars. Billy-boy, take threeVenusians and head across the knoll, she ordered. Ezra and I willcircle in from the west. Fire a gun if you strike trouble. But we found no trouble. The scene before us lay steeped in silence.Moments later our two parties converged at the base of the great ship. A metal ladder extended from the envelope down the side of the vessel.Mid-way we could see a circular hatch-like door. Up we go, Billy-boy. Heat gun in readiness, Grannie Annie began toclimb slowly. The silence remained absolute. We reached the door and pulled it open.There was no sign of life. Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble here, Ezra Karn observed. Somebody had. Before us stretched a narrow corridor, flanked on theleft side by a wall of impenetrable stepto glass. The corridor wasbare of furnishings. But beyond the glass, revealed to us in mockingclarity, was a high panel, studded with dials and gauges. Even as welooked, we could see liquid pulse in glass tubes, indicator needlesswing slowly to and fro. Grannie nodded. Some kind of a broadcasting unit. The Green Flames inthe lower hold are probably exposed to a tholpane plate and theirradiations stepped up by an electro-phosicalic process. Karn raised the butt of his pistol and brought it crashing against theglass wall. His arm jumped in recoil, but the glass remained intact. You'll never do it that way, Grannie said. Nothing short of anatomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are noguards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if theGreen Flames are more accessible. In the lower hold disappointment again confronted us. Visible inthe feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in thevessel's hull were tiers of rectangular ingots of green iridescent ore.Suspended by insulators from the ceiling over them was a thick metalplate. But between was a barrier. A wall of impenetrable stepto glass. Grannie stamped her foot. It's maddening, she said. Here we are atthe crux of the whole matter, and we're powerless to make a singlemove. <doc-sep>Outside the day was beginning to wane. The Venusians, apparentlyunawed by the presence of the space ship, had already started a fireand erected the tents. We left the vessel to find a spell of broodingdesolation heavy over the improvised camp. And the evening meal thistime was a gloomy affair. When it was finished, Ezra Karn lit his pipeand switched on the portable visi set. A moment later the silence ofthe march was broken by the opening fanfare of the Doctor Universeprogram. Great stuff, Karn commented. I sent in a couple of questions once,but I never did win nothin'. This Doctor Universe is a great guy. Oughtto make him king or somethin'. For a moment none of us made reply. Then suddenly Grannie Annie leapedto her feet. Say that again! she cried. The old prospector looked startled. Why, I only said they ought tomake this Doctor Universe the big boss and.... That's it! Grannie paced ten yards off into the gathering darknessand returned quickly. Billy-boy, you were right. The man behind this is Doctor Universe. It was he who stole my manuscript and devised amethod to amplify the radiations of the Green Flames in the freighter'shold. He lit on a sure-fire plan to broadcast those radiations in sucha way that millions of persons would be exposed to them simultaneously.Don't you see? I didn't see, but Grannie hurried on. What better way to expose civilized life to the Green Flamesradiations than when the people are in a state of relaxation. TheDoctor Universe quiz program. The whole System tuned in on them, butthey were only a blind to cover up the transmission of the radiationsfrom the ore. Their power must have been amplified a thousandfold, andtheir wave-length must lie somewhere between light and the supersonicscale in that transition band which so far has defied exploration.... But with what motive? I demanded. Why should...? Power! the old woman answered. The old thirst for dictatorialcontrol of the masses. By presenting himself as an intellectual genius,Doctor Universe utilized a bizarre method to intrench himself in theminds of the people. Oh, don't you see, Billy-boy? The Green Flames'radiations spell doom to freedom, individual liberty. I sat there stupidly, wondering if this all were some wild dream. And then, as I looked across at Grannie Annie, the vague light over thetents seemed to shift a little, as if one layer of the atmosphere haddropped away to be replaced by another. There it was again, a definite movement in the air. Somehow I got theimpression I was looking around that space rather than through it. Andsimultaneously Ezra Karn uttered a howl of pain. An instant later theold prospector was rolling over and over, threshing his arms wildly. An invisible sledge hammer descended on my shoulder. The blow wasfollowed by another and another. Heavy unseen hands held me down.Opposite me Grannie Annie and the Venusians were suffering similarpunishment, the latter screaming in pain and bewilderment. It's the Varsoom! Ezra Karn yelled. We've got to make 'em laugh. Ouronly escape is to make 'em laugh! He struggled to his feet and began leaping wildly around the camp fire.Abruptly his foot caught on a log protruding from the fire; he trippedand fell headlong into a mass of hot coals and ashes. Like a jumpingjack he was on his feet again, clawing dirt and soot from his eyes. Out of the empty space about us there came a sudden hush. The unseenblows ceased in mid-career. And then the silence was rent by wildlaughter. Peal after peal of mirthful yells pounded against our ears.For many moments it continued; then it died away, and everything waspeaceful once more. Grannie Annie picked herself up slowly. That was close, she said. Iwouldn't want to go through that again. Ezra Karn nursed an ugly welt under one eye. Those Varsoom got a funnysense of humor, he growled. <doc-sep>Inside the freighter's narrow corridor Grannie faced me with eyesfilled with excitement. Billy-boy, she said, we've got two problems now. We've got to stopDoctor Universe, and we've got to find a way of getting out of here.Right now we're nicely bottled up. As if in answer to her words the visi set revealed the face of the quizmaster on the screen. He was saying: Remember tomorrow at this same hour I will have a message ofunparalleled importance for the people of the nine planets. Tomorrownight I urge you, I command you, to tune in. With a whistling intake of breath the old woman turned to one of theVenusians. Bring all our equipment in here, she ordered. Hurry! She untied the ribbon under her chin and took off her cap. She rolledup her sleeves, and as the Venusians came marching into the space shipwith bundles of equipment, she fell to work. Silently Ezra Karn and I watched her. First she completely dismantledthe visi set, put it together again with an entirely altered hookup.Next she unrolled a coil of flexible copper mesh which we had broughtalong as a protective electrical screening against the marsh insects.She fastened rubberite suction cups to this mesh at intervals of everytwelve inches or more, carried it down to the freighter's hold andfastened it securely against the stepto glass wall. Trailing a three-ply conduit up from the hold to the corridor sheselected an induction coil, several Micro-Wellman tubes and a quantityof wire from a box of spare parts. Dexterously her fingers moved in andout, fashioning a complicated and curious piece of apparatus. At length she finished. It's pretty hay-wire, she said, but I think it will work. Now I'lltell you what I'm going to do. When Doctor Universe broadcasts tomorrownight, he's going to announce that he has set himself up as supremedictator. He'll have the Green Flame radiations coming from this shipunder full power. I'm going to insert into his broadcast—the laughingof the Varsoom! You're going to what? Broadcast the mass laughter from those invisible creatures out there.Visualize it, Billy-boy! At the dramatic moment when Doctor Universemakes his plea for System-wide power, he will be accompanied by wildpeals of laughter. The whole broadcast will be turned into a burlesque. How you going to make 'em laugh? interrupted Karn. We must think of a way, Grannie replied soberly. I, for one, am glad that no representative of the InterstellarPsychiatry Society witnessed our antics during the early hours of thatmorning and on into the long reaches of the afternoon, as we vainlytried to provoke the laughter of the Varsoom. All to no avail. Uttersilence greeted our efforts. And the time was growing close to thescheduled Doctor Universe program. Ezra Karn wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. Maybe we've gotto attract their attention first, he suggested. Miss Flowers, whydon't you go up on the roof and read to 'em? Read 'em something fromone of your books, if you've got one along. That ought to make 'em situp and take notice. For a moment the old woman gazed at him in silence. Then she got to herfeet quickly. I'll do it, she said. I'll read them the attack scene from MurderOn A Space Liner . <doc-sep>It didn't make sense, of course. But nothing made sense in this madventure. Grannie Annie opened her duffel bag and drew out a copy ofher most popular book. With the volume under her arm, she mounted theladder to the top of the envelope. Ezra Karn rigged up a radite searchlamp, and a moment later the old woman stood in the center of a circleof white radiance. Karn gripped my arm. This is it, he said tensely. If this fails ... His voice clipped off as Grannie began to read. She read slowlyat first, then intoned the words and sentences faster and moredramatically. And out in the swamp a vast hush fell as if unseen ears were listening. ... the space liner was over on her beam ends now as another shotfrom the raider's vessel crashed into the stern hold. In the controlcabin Cuthbert Strong twisted vainly at his bonds as he sought to freehimself. Opposite him, lashed by strong Martian vinta ropes to thegravascope, Louise Belmont sobbed softly, wringing her hands in muteappeal. A restless rustling sounded out in the marsh, as if hundreds of bodieswere surging closer. Karn nodded in awe. She's got 'em! he whispered. Listen. They're eatin' up every word. I heard it then, and I thought I must be dreaming. From somewhere outin the swamp a sound rose into the thick air. A high-pitched chuckle,it was. The chuckle came again. Now it was followed by another andanother. An instant later a wave of low subdued laughter rose into theair. Ezra Karn gulped. Gripes! he said. They're laughing already. They're laughing at her book! And look, the old lady's gettin' sore. Up on the roof of the envelope Grannie Annie halted her reading toglare savagely out into the darkness. The laughter was a roar now. It rose louder and louder, peal after pealof mirthful yells and hysterical shouts. And for the first time in mylife, I saw Annabella C. Flowers mad. She stamped her foot; she shookher fist at the unseen hordes out before her. Ignorant slap-happy fools! she screamed. You don't know good sciencefiction when you hear it. I turned to Karn and said quietly, Turn on the visi set. DoctorUniverse should be broadcasting now. Tune your microphone to pull inas much of that laughter as you can. <doc-sep>It took three weeks to make the return trip to Swamp City. The Varsoomfollowed us far beyond the frontier of their country like an unseenarmy in the throes of laughing gas. Not until we reached Level Five didthe last chuckle fade into the distance. All during that trek back, Grannie sat in the dugout, staring silentlyout before her. But when we reached Swamp City, the news was flung at us from allsides. One newspaper headline accurately told the story: DOCTORUNIVERSE BID FOR SYSTEM DICTATORSHIP SQUELCHED BY RIDICULE OF UNSEENAUDIENCE. QUIZ MASTER NOW IN HANDS OF I.P. COUP FAILURE. Grannie, I said that night as we sat again in a rear booth of THEJET, what are you going to do now? Give up writing science fiction? She looked at me soberly, then broke into a smile. Just because some silly form of life that can't even be seen doesn'tappreciate it? I should say not. Right now I've got an idea for a swellyarn about Mars. Want to come along while I dig up some backgroundmaterial? I shook my head. Not me, I said. But I knew I would. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the character of Grannie Annie

Grannie Annie is a small elderly woman who wears a bonnet and dresses in black. She smokes tobacco and her choice of beverage is whiskey. She is a very well-known science fiction writer, and her work is highly sought after by publishers. Her pen name is Annabella C. Flowers. Her writing includes some repetition. Each novel includes a beautiful woman for the protagonist to fall in love with. Still, Grannie Annie always does her research. If she’s writing about a colony on Venus, she spends weeks there to truly get to know the place before she portrays the setting in her book. Grannie Annie is bold and intelligent. Although she does not first suspect that Doctor Universe is the wannabe dictator, as soon as Karn mentions that he thinks the Doctor should be king, everything clicks, and Annie recognizes him as the villain. She is a quick thinker and a tinkerer as well. She is able to build a contraption that interrupts Doctor Universe’s broadcast in very little time. When the Varsoom laugh at her novel, she gets angry. She clearly takes pride in her work and doesn’t like feeling like a laughingstock. Annie is not a quitter. When Billy asks her if she will continue writing, she already has the idea for her next piece ready to go.

Describe the significance of the Green Flames. [SEP] <s> Doctor Universe By CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece didn't worry her—I was the guy he was shooting at. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I was killing an hour in the billiard room of the Spacemen's Club in Swamp City when the Venusian bellboy came and tapped me on theshoulder. Beg pardon, thir, he said with his racial lisp, thereth thome one tothee you in the main lounge. His eyes rolled as he added, A lady! A woman here...! The Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club wherein-coming pilots and crewmen could relax before leaving for anothervoyage. The rule that no females could pass its portals was strictlyenforced. I followed the bellhop down the long corridor that led to the mainlounge. At the threshold I jerked to a halt and stared incredulously. Grannie Annie! There she stood before a frantically gesticulating desk clerk, leaningon her faded green umbrella. A little wisp of a woman clad in avoluminous black dress with one of those doily-like caps on her head,tied by a ribbon under her chin. Her high-topped button shoes wereplanted firmly on the varpla carpet and her wrinkled face was set incalm defiance. I barged across the lounge and seized her hand. Grannie Annie! Ihaven't seen you in two years. Hi, Billy-boy, she greeted calmly. Will you please tell thisfish-face to shut up. The desk clerk went white. Mithter Trenwith, if thith lady ith afriend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. It'th abtholutelyagainth the ruleth.... Okay, okay, I grinned. Look, we'll go into the grille. There's noone there at this hour. In the grille an equally astonished waiter served us—me a lime rickeyand Grannie Annie her usual whisky sour—I waited until she had tossedthe drink off at a gulp before I set off a chain of questions: What the devil are you doing on Venus? Don't you know women aren'tallowed in the Spacemen's ? What happened to the book you werewriting? Hold it, Billy-boy. Laughingly she threw up both hands. Sure, I knewthis place had some antiquated laws. Pure fiddle-faddle, that's whatthey are. Anyway, I've been thrown out of better places. She hadn't changed. To her publishers and her readers she might beAnnabella C. Flowers, author of a long list of science fiction novels.But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year'shat, as modern as an atomic motor. She had probably written more drivelin the name of science fiction than anyone alive. But the public loved it. They ate up her stories, and they clamored formore. Her annual income totaled into six figures, and her publisherssat back and massaged their digits, watching their earnings mount. One thing you had to admit about her books. They may have been dimenovels, but they weren't synthetic. If Annabella C. Flowers wrote anovel, and the locale was the desert of Mars, she packed her carpet bagand hopped a liner for Craterville. If she cooked up a feud between twoexpeditions on Callisto, she went to Callisto. She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. What happened to Guns for Ganymede ? I asked. That was the title ofyour last, wasn't it? <doc-sep>Grannie spilled a few shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftlyrolled herself a cigarette. It wasn't Guns , it was Pistols ; and it wasn't Ganymede , it was Pluto . I grinned. All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universeand beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair. What else is there in science fiction? she demanded. You can't haveyour hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster. Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to herfeet. I almost forgot, Billy-boy. I'm due at the Satellite Theater in tenminutes. Come on, you're going with me. Before I realized it, I was following her through the lounge and out tothe jetty front. Grannie Annie hailed a hydrocar. Five minutes later wedrew up before the big doors of the Satellite . They don't go in for style in Swamp City. A theater to the grizzledcolonials on this side of the planet meant a shack on stilts over themuck, zilcon wood seats and dingy atobide lamps. But the place waspacked with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanitythat made Swamp City the frontier post it is. In front was a big sign. It read: ONE NIGHT ONLY DOCTOR UNIVERSE AND HIS NINE GENIUSES THE QUESTION PROGRAM OF THE SYSTEM As we strode down the aisle a mangy-looking Venusian began to pound atinpan piano in the pit. Grannie Annie pushed me into a seat in thefront row. Sit here, she said. I'm sorry about all this rush, but I'm one ofthe players in this shindig. As soon as the show is over, we'll gosomewhere and talk. She minced lightly down the aisle, climbed thestage steps and disappeared in the wings. That damned fossilized dynamo, I muttered. She'll be the death of meyet. The piano struck a chord in G, and the curtain went rattling up. On thestage four Earthmen, two Martians, two Venusians, and one Mercuriansat on an upraised dais. That is to say, eight of them sat. TheMercurian, a huge lump of granite-like flesh, sprawled there, palpablyuncomfortable. On the right were nine visi sets, each with its newimproved pantascope panel and switchboard. Before each set stood anEarthman operator. <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights. People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts. There was a roar of applause from the Satellite audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued: As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand planetoles . One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers. From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais. The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater: Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury? Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly: Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car. And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner. It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things. The audience in the Satellite seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete. Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction. When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred. A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era. Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth. Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted. In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes. Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted? I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down. The I.P. men aren't strong enough. She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips. What do you mean? <doc-sep>For a moment the old lady sat there in silence; then she leaned back,closed her eyes, and I knew there was a story coming. My last book, Death In The Atom , hit the stands last January,she began. When it was finished I had planned to take a six months'vacation, but those fool publishers of mine insisted I do a sequel.Well, I'd used Mars and Pluto and Ganymede as settings for novels, sofor this one I decided on Venus. I went to Venus City, and I spent sixweeks in-country. I got some swell background material, and I met EzraKarn.... Who? I interrupted. An old prospector who lives out in the deep marsh on the outskirts ofVarsoom country. To make a long story short, I got him talking abouthis adventures, and he told me plenty. The old woman paused. Did you ever hear of the Green Flames? sheasked abruptly. I shook my head. Some new kind of ... It's not a new kind of anything. The Green Flame is a radio-activerock once found on Mercury. The Alpha rays of this rock are similarto radium in that they consist of streams of material particlesprojected at high speed. But the character of the Gamma rays hasnever been completely analyzed. Like those set up by radium, they areelectromagnetic pulsations, but they are also a strange combination of Beta or cathode rays with negatively charged electrons. When any form of life is exposed to these Gamma rays from the GreenFlame rock, they produce in the creature's brain a certain lassitudeand lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this conditiondevelops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership orguidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit ofintolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate,a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug. I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. Now in 2710, as you'd know if you studied your history, the threeplanets of Earth, Venus, and Mars were under governmental bondage. Thecruel dictatorship of Vennox I was short-lived, but it lasted longenough to endanger all civilized life. The archives tell us that one of the first acts of the overthrowinggovernment was to cast out all Green Flames, two of which Vennox hadordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people wasimmediate. Representative government, individual enterprise, freedomfollowed. Grannie Annie lit a cigarette and flipped the match to the floor. To go back to my first trip to Venus. As I said, I met Ezra Karn, anold prospector there in the marsh. Karn told me that on one of histravels into the Varsoom district he had come upon the wreckage ofan old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with GreenFlames! If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed.I said, So what? So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would meanif it were true? Green Flames were supposedly destroyed on all planetsafter the Vennox regime crashed. If a quantity of the rock were inexistence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. Of course, I regarded Karn's story as a wild dream, but it madecorking good story material. I wrote it into a novel, and a week afterit was completed, the manuscript was stolen from my study back onEarth. I see, I said as she lapsed into silence. And now you've come to theconclusion that the details of your story were true and that someone isattempting to put your plot into action. Grannie nodded. Yes, she said. That's exactly what I think. I got my pipe out of my pocket, tamped Martian tobacco into the bowland laughed heartily. The same old Flowers, I said. Tell me, who'syour thief ... Doctor Universe? She regarded me evenly. What makes you say that? I shrugged. The way the theater crowd acted. It all ties in. The old woman shook her head. No, this is a lot bigger than a simplequiz program. The theater crowd was but a cross-section of what ishappening all over the System. There have been riots on Earth and Mars,police officials murdered on Pluto and a demand that government byrepresentation be abolished on Jupiter. The time is ripe for a militarydictator to step in. And you can lay it all to the Green Flames. It seems incredible that asingle shipload of the ore could effect such a wide ranged area, but inmy opinion someone has found a means of making that quantity a thousandtimes more potent and is transmiting it en masse . If it had been anyone but Grannie Annie there before me, I wouldhave called her a fool. And then all at once I got an odd feeling ofapproaching danger. Let's get out of here, I said, getting up. Zinnng-whack! All right! On the mirror behind the bar a small circle with radiating cracksappeared. On the booth wall a scant inch above Grannie's head thefresco seemed to melt away suddenly. A heat ray! Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for thedoor. Outside a driverless hydrocar stood with idling motors. The oldwoman threw herself into the control seat, yanked me in after her andthrew over the starting stud. An instant later we were plunging through the dark night. <doc-sep>Six days after leaving Swamp City we reached Level Five, the lastoutpost of firm ground. Ahead lay the inner marsh, stretching as far asthe eye could reach. Low islands projected at intervals from the thickwater. Mold balls, two feet across, drifted down from the slate-graysky like puffs of cotton. We had traveled this far by ganet , the tough little two headed packanimal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would havehad its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic forcebelt that encircled the planet's equator. Now our drivers changed toboatmen, and we loaded our supplies into three clumsy jagua canoes. It was around the camp fire that night that Grannie took me into herconfidence for the first time since we had left Swamp City. We're heading directly for Varsoom country, she said. If we findEzra Karn so much the better. If we don't, we follow his directions tothe lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. Yousee, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from theship. Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hourstossing restlessly. The thousand sounds of the blue marsh dronedsteadily. And the news broadcast I had heard over the portable visijust before retiring still lingered in my mind. To a casual observerthat broadcast would have meant little, a slight rebellion here, anisolated crime there. But viewed from the perspective Grannie hadgiven me, everything dovetailed. The situation on Jupiter was swiftlycoming to a head. Not only had the people on that planet demanded thatrepresentative government be abolished, but a forum was now being heldto find a leader who might take complete dictatorial control. Outside a whisper-worm hissed softly. I got up and strode out of mytent. For some time I stood there, lost in thought. Could I believeGrannie's incredible story? Or was this another of her fantastic plotswhich she had skilfully blended into a novel? Abruptly I stiffened. The familiar drone of the marsh was gone. In itsplace a ringing silence blanketed everything. And then out in the gloom a darker shadow appeared, moving inundulating sweeps toward the center of the camp. Fascinated, I watchedit advance and retreat, saw two hyalescent eyes swim out of the murk.It charged, and with but a split second to act, I threw myself flat.There was a rush of mighty wings as the thing swept over me. Sharptalons raked my clothing. Again it came, and again I rolled swiftly,missing the thing by the narrowest of margins. From the tent opposite a gaunt figure clad in a familiar dressappeared. Grannie gave a single warning: Stand still! The thing in the darkness turned like a cam on a rod and drove at usagain. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery ofpurple flame shot outward. A horrible soul-chilling scream rent theair. A moment later something huge and heavy scrabbled across theground and shot aloft. Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. I stood frozen as the diminuendo of its wild cries echoed back to me. In heaven's name, what was it? Hunter-bird, Grannie said calmly. A form of avian life found herein the swamp. Harmless in its wild state, but when captured, it can betrained to pursue a quarry until it kills. It has a single unit brainand follows with a relentless purpose. Then that would mean...? That it was sent by our enemy, the same enemy that shot at us in thecafe in Swamp City. Exactly. Grannie Annie halted at the door of hertent and faced me with earnest eyes. Billy-boy, our every move isbeing watched. From now on it's the survival of the fittest. <doc-sep>The following day was our seventh in the swamp. The water hereresembled a vast mosaic, striped and cross-striped with long windingribbons of yellowish substance that floated a few inches below thesurface. The mold balls coming into contact with the evonium water ofthe swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesivemulti-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours.The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped hishand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured ina matter of seconds. At high noon by my Earth watch I sighted a low white structure on oneof the distant islands. Moments later we made a landing at a rudejetty, and Grannie Annie was introducing me to Ezra Karn. He was not as old a man as I had expected, but he was ragged andunkempt with iron gray hair falling almost to his shoulders. He wasdressed in varpa cloth, the Venus equivalent of buckskin, and on hishead was an enormous flop-brimmed hat. Glad to meet you, he said, shaking my hand. Any friend of MissFlowers is a friend of mine. He ushered us down the catwalk into hishut. The place was a two room affair, small but comfortable. The latesttype of visi set in one corner showed that Karn was not isolated fromcivilization entirely. Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained theobject of our trip, the prospector became thoughtful. Green Flames, eh? he repeated slowly. Well yes, I suppose I couldfind that space ship again. That is, if I wanted to. What do you mean? Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself acigarette. You know where it is, don't you? Ye-s, Karn nodded. But like I told you before, that ship lies inVarsoom country, and that isn't exactly a summer vacation spot. What are the Varsoom? I asked. A native tribe? Karn shook his head. They're a form of life that's never been seen byEarthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy. Dangerous? Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outsideof myself was the explorer, Darthier, three years ago. I got awaybecause I was alone, and they didn't notice me, and Darthier escapedbecause he made 'em laugh. Laugh? A scowl crossed Grannie's face. That's right, Karn said. The Varsoom have a strange nervous reactionthat's manifested by laughing. But just what it is that makes themlaugh, I don't know. Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut.Several mold guns were borrowed from the prospector's supply to arm theVenusians. And then as we were about to leave, Karn suddenly turned. The Doctor Universe program, he said. I ain't missed one in months.You gotta wait 'til I hear it. Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. Heflipped a stud, twisted a dial and a moment later was leaning back in achair, listening with avid interest. It was the same show I had witnessed back in Swamp City. Once again Iheard questions filter in from the far outposts of the System. Onceagain I saw the commanding figure of the quiz master as he strode backand forth across the stage. And as I sat there, looking into the visiscreen, a curious numbing drowsiness seemed to steal over me and leadmy thoughts far away. <doc-sep>Half an hour later we headed into the unknown. The Venusian boatmenwere ill-at-ease now and jabbered among themselves constantly. Wecamped that night on a miserable little island where insects swarmedabout us in hordes. The next day an indefinable wave of weariness anddespondency beset our entire party. I caught myself musing over thefutility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept mefrom turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning,that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. After that I lost track of time. Day after day of incessant rain ... ofsteaming swamp.... But at length we reached firm ground and began ouradvance on foot. It was Karn who first sighted the ship. Striding in the lead, hesuddenly halted at the top of a hill and leveled his arm before him.There it lay, a huge cigar-shaped vessel of blackened arelium steel,half buried in the swamp soil. What's that thing on top? Karn demanded, puzzled. A rectangular metal envelope had been constructed over the sternquarters of the ship. Above this structure were three tall masts. Andsuspended between them was a network of copper wire studded with whiteinsulators. Grannie gazed a long moment through binoculars. Billy-boy, take threeVenusians and head across the knoll, she ordered. Ezra and I willcircle in from the west. Fire a gun if you strike trouble. But we found no trouble. The scene before us lay steeped in silence.Moments later our two parties converged at the base of the great ship. A metal ladder extended from the envelope down the side of the vessel.Mid-way we could see a circular hatch-like door. Up we go, Billy-boy. Heat gun in readiness, Grannie Annie began toclimb slowly. The silence remained absolute. We reached the door and pulled it open.There was no sign of life. Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble here, Ezra Karn observed. Somebody had. Before us stretched a narrow corridor, flanked on theleft side by a wall of impenetrable stepto glass. The corridor wasbare of furnishings. But beyond the glass, revealed to us in mockingclarity, was a high panel, studded with dials and gauges. Even as welooked, we could see liquid pulse in glass tubes, indicator needlesswing slowly to and fro. Grannie nodded. Some kind of a broadcasting unit. The Green Flames inthe lower hold are probably exposed to a tholpane plate and theirradiations stepped up by an electro-phosicalic process. Karn raised the butt of his pistol and brought it crashing against theglass wall. His arm jumped in recoil, but the glass remained intact. You'll never do it that way, Grannie said. Nothing short of anatomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are noguards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if theGreen Flames are more accessible. In the lower hold disappointment again confronted us. Visible inthe feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in thevessel's hull were tiers of rectangular ingots of green iridescent ore.Suspended by insulators from the ceiling over them was a thick metalplate. But between was a barrier. A wall of impenetrable stepto glass. Grannie stamped her foot. It's maddening, she said. Here we are atthe crux of the whole matter, and we're powerless to make a singlemove. <doc-sep>Outside the day was beginning to wane. The Venusians, apparentlyunawed by the presence of the space ship, had already started a fireand erected the tents. We left the vessel to find a spell of broodingdesolation heavy over the improvised camp. And the evening meal thistime was a gloomy affair. When it was finished, Ezra Karn lit his pipeand switched on the portable visi set. A moment later the silence ofthe march was broken by the opening fanfare of the Doctor Universeprogram. Great stuff, Karn commented. I sent in a couple of questions once,but I never did win nothin'. This Doctor Universe is a great guy. Oughtto make him king or somethin'. For a moment none of us made reply. Then suddenly Grannie Annie leapedto her feet. Say that again! she cried. The old prospector looked startled. Why, I only said they ought tomake this Doctor Universe the big boss and.... That's it! Grannie paced ten yards off into the gathering darknessand returned quickly. Billy-boy, you were right. The man behind this is Doctor Universe. It was he who stole my manuscript and devised amethod to amplify the radiations of the Green Flames in the freighter'shold. He lit on a sure-fire plan to broadcast those radiations in sucha way that millions of persons would be exposed to them simultaneously.Don't you see? I didn't see, but Grannie hurried on. What better way to expose civilized life to the Green Flamesradiations than when the people are in a state of relaxation. TheDoctor Universe quiz program. The whole System tuned in on them, butthey were only a blind to cover up the transmission of the radiationsfrom the ore. Their power must have been amplified a thousandfold, andtheir wave-length must lie somewhere between light and the supersonicscale in that transition band which so far has defied exploration.... But with what motive? I demanded. Why should...? Power! the old woman answered. The old thirst for dictatorialcontrol of the masses. By presenting himself as an intellectual genius,Doctor Universe utilized a bizarre method to intrench himself in theminds of the people. Oh, don't you see, Billy-boy? The Green Flames'radiations spell doom to freedom, individual liberty. I sat there stupidly, wondering if this all were some wild dream. And then, as I looked across at Grannie Annie, the vague light over thetents seemed to shift a little, as if one layer of the atmosphere haddropped away to be replaced by another. There it was again, a definite movement in the air. Somehow I got theimpression I was looking around that space rather than through it. Andsimultaneously Ezra Karn uttered a howl of pain. An instant later theold prospector was rolling over and over, threshing his arms wildly. An invisible sledge hammer descended on my shoulder. The blow wasfollowed by another and another. Heavy unseen hands held me down.Opposite me Grannie Annie and the Venusians were suffering similarpunishment, the latter screaming in pain and bewilderment. It's the Varsoom! Ezra Karn yelled. We've got to make 'em laugh. Ouronly escape is to make 'em laugh! He struggled to his feet and began leaping wildly around the camp fire.Abruptly his foot caught on a log protruding from the fire; he trippedand fell headlong into a mass of hot coals and ashes. Like a jumpingjack he was on his feet again, clawing dirt and soot from his eyes. Out of the empty space about us there came a sudden hush. The unseenblows ceased in mid-career. And then the silence was rent by wildlaughter. Peal after peal of mirthful yells pounded against our ears.For many moments it continued; then it died away, and everything waspeaceful once more. Grannie Annie picked herself up slowly. That was close, she said. Iwouldn't want to go through that again. Ezra Karn nursed an ugly welt under one eye. Those Varsoom got a funnysense of humor, he growled. <doc-sep>Inside the freighter's narrow corridor Grannie faced me with eyesfilled with excitement. Billy-boy, she said, we've got two problems now. We've got to stopDoctor Universe, and we've got to find a way of getting out of here.Right now we're nicely bottled up. As if in answer to her words the visi set revealed the face of the quizmaster on the screen. He was saying: Remember tomorrow at this same hour I will have a message ofunparalleled importance for the people of the nine planets. Tomorrownight I urge you, I command you, to tune in. With a whistling intake of breath the old woman turned to one of theVenusians. Bring all our equipment in here, she ordered. Hurry! She untied the ribbon under her chin and took off her cap. She rolledup her sleeves, and as the Venusians came marching into the space shipwith bundles of equipment, she fell to work. Silently Ezra Karn and I watched her. First she completely dismantledthe visi set, put it together again with an entirely altered hookup.Next she unrolled a coil of flexible copper mesh which we had broughtalong as a protective electrical screening against the marsh insects.She fastened rubberite suction cups to this mesh at intervals of everytwelve inches or more, carried it down to the freighter's hold andfastened it securely against the stepto glass wall. Trailing a three-ply conduit up from the hold to the corridor sheselected an induction coil, several Micro-Wellman tubes and a quantityof wire from a box of spare parts. Dexterously her fingers moved in andout, fashioning a complicated and curious piece of apparatus. At length she finished. It's pretty hay-wire, she said, but I think it will work. Now I'lltell you what I'm going to do. When Doctor Universe broadcasts tomorrownight, he's going to announce that he has set himself up as supremedictator. He'll have the Green Flame radiations coming from this shipunder full power. I'm going to insert into his broadcast—the laughingof the Varsoom! You're going to what? Broadcast the mass laughter from those invisible creatures out there.Visualize it, Billy-boy! At the dramatic moment when Doctor Universemakes his plea for System-wide power, he will be accompanied by wildpeals of laughter. The whole broadcast will be turned into a burlesque. How you going to make 'em laugh? interrupted Karn. We must think of a way, Grannie replied soberly. I, for one, am glad that no representative of the InterstellarPsychiatry Society witnessed our antics during the early hours of thatmorning and on into the long reaches of the afternoon, as we vainlytried to provoke the laughter of the Varsoom. All to no avail. Uttersilence greeted our efforts. And the time was growing close to thescheduled Doctor Universe program. Ezra Karn wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. Maybe we've gotto attract their attention first, he suggested. Miss Flowers, whydon't you go up on the roof and read to 'em? Read 'em something fromone of your books, if you've got one along. That ought to make 'em situp and take notice. For a moment the old woman gazed at him in silence. Then she got to herfeet quickly. I'll do it, she said. I'll read them the attack scene from MurderOn A Space Liner . <doc-sep>It didn't make sense, of course. But nothing made sense in this madventure. Grannie Annie opened her duffel bag and drew out a copy ofher most popular book. With the volume under her arm, she mounted theladder to the top of the envelope. Ezra Karn rigged up a radite searchlamp, and a moment later the old woman stood in the center of a circleof white radiance. Karn gripped my arm. This is it, he said tensely. If this fails ... His voice clipped off as Grannie began to read. She read slowlyat first, then intoned the words and sentences faster and moredramatically. And out in the swamp a vast hush fell as if unseen ears were listening. ... the space liner was over on her beam ends now as another shotfrom the raider's vessel crashed into the stern hold. In the controlcabin Cuthbert Strong twisted vainly at his bonds as he sought to freehimself. Opposite him, lashed by strong Martian vinta ropes to thegravascope, Louise Belmont sobbed softly, wringing her hands in muteappeal. A restless rustling sounded out in the marsh, as if hundreds of bodieswere surging closer. Karn nodded in awe. She's got 'em! he whispered. Listen. They're eatin' up every word. I heard it then, and I thought I must be dreaming. From somewhere outin the swamp a sound rose into the thick air. A high-pitched chuckle,it was. The chuckle came again. Now it was followed by another andanother. An instant later a wave of low subdued laughter rose into theair. Ezra Karn gulped. Gripes! he said. They're laughing already. They're laughing at her book! And look, the old lady's gettin' sore. Up on the roof of the envelope Grannie Annie halted her reading toglare savagely out into the darkness. The laughter was a roar now. It rose louder and louder, peal after pealof mirthful yells and hysterical shouts. And for the first time in mylife, I saw Annabella C. Flowers mad. She stamped her foot; she shookher fist at the unseen hordes out before her. Ignorant slap-happy fools! she screamed. You don't know good sciencefiction when you hear it. I turned to Karn and said quietly, Turn on the visi set. DoctorUniverse should be broadcasting now. Tune your microphone to pull inas much of that laughter as you can. <doc-sep>It took three weeks to make the return trip to Swamp City. The Varsoomfollowed us far beyond the frontier of their country like an unseenarmy in the throes of laughing gas. Not until we reached Level Five didthe last chuckle fade into the distance. All during that trek back, Grannie sat in the dugout, staring silentlyout before her. But when we reached Swamp City, the news was flung at us from allsides. One newspaper headline accurately told the story: DOCTORUNIVERSE BID FOR SYSTEM DICTATORSHIP SQUELCHED BY RIDICULE OF UNSEENAUDIENCE. QUIZ MASTER NOW IN HANDS OF I.P. COUP FAILURE. Grannie, I said that night as we sat again in a rear booth of THEJET, what are you going to do now? Give up writing science fiction? She looked at me soberly, then broke into a smile. Just because some silly form of life that can't even be seen doesn'tappreciate it? I should say not. Right now I've got an idea for a swellyarn about Mars. Want to come along while I dig up some backgroundmaterial? I shook my head. Not me, I said. But I knew I would. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the significance of the Green Flames.

The Green Flames are highly important to the narrative because without them, Doctor Universe would not be able to try and take over the universe. The Green Flames originally come from planet Mercury. When earthlings or other creatures come in contract with the rock’s Gamma rays, their brains instantly desire control from leadership. The element’s power is immense but also subtle. The Green Flames have already been used to institute a dictatorship, as with the cautionary tail of Vennox. Vennox forced each creature to keep two of the rocks in each house, and he used their powers to make them servile. When the government was overthrown, the Green Flames were destroyed. Ezra Karn finds the Green Flames hidden away in a spaceship in the Varsoom district of Venus. Doctor Universe has secured the resource and its power when he broadcasts his weekly quiz show, “Doctor Universe and His Nine Geniuses.” The show is a hit on multiple planets, and the quiz master urges his followers to tune in to each broadcast. The Green Flames lead listeners to believe that he is a supreme being and deserves to be in a position of power.

Describe the relationship between Billy and Grannie Annie. [SEP] <s> Doctor Universe By CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece didn't worry her—I was the guy he was shooting at. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I was killing an hour in the billiard room of the Spacemen's Club in Swamp City when the Venusian bellboy came and tapped me on theshoulder. Beg pardon, thir, he said with his racial lisp, thereth thome one tothee you in the main lounge. His eyes rolled as he added, A lady! A woman here...! The Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club wherein-coming pilots and crewmen could relax before leaving for anothervoyage. The rule that no females could pass its portals was strictlyenforced. I followed the bellhop down the long corridor that led to the mainlounge. At the threshold I jerked to a halt and stared incredulously. Grannie Annie! There she stood before a frantically gesticulating desk clerk, leaningon her faded green umbrella. A little wisp of a woman clad in avoluminous black dress with one of those doily-like caps on her head,tied by a ribbon under her chin. Her high-topped button shoes wereplanted firmly on the varpla carpet and her wrinkled face was set incalm defiance. I barged across the lounge and seized her hand. Grannie Annie! Ihaven't seen you in two years. Hi, Billy-boy, she greeted calmly. Will you please tell thisfish-face to shut up. The desk clerk went white. Mithter Trenwith, if thith lady ith afriend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. It'th abtholutelyagainth the ruleth.... Okay, okay, I grinned. Look, we'll go into the grille. There's noone there at this hour. In the grille an equally astonished waiter served us—me a lime rickeyand Grannie Annie her usual whisky sour—I waited until she had tossedthe drink off at a gulp before I set off a chain of questions: What the devil are you doing on Venus? Don't you know women aren'tallowed in the Spacemen's ? What happened to the book you werewriting? Hold it, Billy-boy. Laughingly she threw up both hands. Sure, I knewthis place had some antiquated laws. Pure fiddle-faddle, that's whatthey are. Anyway, I've been thrown out of better places. She hadn't changed. To her publishers and her readers she might beAnnabella C. Flowers, author of a long list of science fiction novels.But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year'shat, as modern as an atomic motor. She had probably written more drivelin the name of science fiction than anyone alive. But the public loved it. They ate up her stories, and they clamored formore. Her annual income totaled into six figures, and her publisherssat back and massaged their digits, watching their earnings mount. One thing you had to admit about her books. They may have been dimenovels, but they weren't synthetic. If Annabella C. Flowers wrote anovel, and the locale was the desert of Mars, she packed her carpet bagand hopped a liner for Craterville. If she cooked up a feud between twoexpeditions on Callisto, she went to Callisto. She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. What happened to Guns for Ganymede ? I asked. That was the title ofyour last, wasn't it? <doc-sep>Grannie spilled a few shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftlyrolled herself a cigarette. It wasn't Guns , it was Pistols ; and it wasn't Ganymede , it was Pluto . I grinned. All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universeand beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair. What else is there in science fiction? she demanded. You can't haveyour hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster. Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to herfeet. I almost forgot, Billy-boy. I'm due at the Satellite Theater in tenminutes. Come on, you're going with me. Before I realized it, I was following her through the lounge and out tothe jetty front. Grannie Annie hailed a hydrocar. Five minutes later wedrew up before the big doors of the Satellite . They don't go in for style in Swamp City. A theater to the grizzledcolonials on this side of the planet meant a shack on stilts over themuck, zilcon wood seats and dingy atobide lamps. But the place waspacked with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanitythat made Swamp City the frontier post it is. In front was a big sign. It read: ONE NIGHT ONLY DOCTOR UNIVERSE AND HIS NINE GENIUSES THE QUESTION PROGRAM OF THE SYSTEM As we strode down the aisle a mangy-looking Venusian began to pound atinpan piano in the pit. Grannie Annie pushed me into a seat in thefront row. Sit here, she said. I'm sorry about all this rush, but I'm one ofthe players in this shindig. As soon as the show is over, we'll gosomewhere and talk. She minced lightly down the aisle, climbed thestage steps and disappeared in the wings. That damned fossilized dynamo, I muttered. She'll be the death of meyet. The piano struck a chord in G, and the curtain went rattling up. On thestage four Earthmen, two Martians, two Venusians, and one Mercuriansat on an upraised dais. That is to say, eight of them sat. TheMercurian, a huge lump of granite-like flesh, sprawled there, palpablyuncomfortable. On the right were nine visi sets, each with its newimproved pantascope panel and switchboard. Before each set stood anEarthman operator. <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights. People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts. There was a roar of applause from the Satellite audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued: As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand planetoles . One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers. From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais. The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater: Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury? Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly: Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car. And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner. It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things. The audience in the Satellite seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete. Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction. When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred. A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era. Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth. Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted. In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes. Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted? I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down. The I.P. men aren't strong enough. She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips. What do you mean? <doc-sep>For a moment the old lady sat there in silence; then she leaned back,closed her eyes, and I knew there was a story coming. My last book, Death In The Atom , hit the stands last January,she began. When it was finished I had planned to take a six months'vacation, but those fool publishers of mine insisted I do a sequel.Well, I'd used Mars and Pluto and Ganymede as settings for novels, sofor this one I decided on Venus. I went to Venus City, and I spent sixweeks in-country. I got some swell background material, and I met EzraKarn.... Who? I interrupted. An old prospector who lives out in the deep marsh on the outskirts ofVarsoom country. To make a long story short, I got him talking abouthis adventures, and he told me plenty. The old woman paused. Did you ever hear of the Green Flames? sheasked abruptly. I shook my head. Some new kind of ... It's not a new kind of anything. The Green Flame is a radio-activerock once found on Mercury. The Alpha rays of this rock are similarto radium in that they consist of streams of material particlesprojected at high speed. But the character of the Gamma rays hasnever been completely analyzed. Like those set up by radium, they areelectromagnetic pulsations, but they are also a strange combination of Beta or cathode rays with negatively charged electrons. When any form of life is exposed to these Gamma rays from the GreenFlame rock, they produce in the creature's brain a certain lassitudeand lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this conditiondevelops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership orguidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit ofintolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate,a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug. I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. Now in 2710, as you'd know if you studied your history, the threeplanets of Earth, Venus, and Mars were under governmental bondage. Thecruel dictatorship of Vennox I was short-lived, but it lasted longenough to endanger all civilized life. The archives tell us that one of the first acts of the overthrowinggovernment was to cast out all Green Flames, two of which Vennox hadordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people wasimmediate. Representative government, individual enterprise, freedomfollowed. Grannie Annie lit a cigarette and flipped the match to the floor. To go back to my first trip to Venus. As I said, I met Ezra Karn, anold prospector there in the marsh. Karn told me that on one of histravels into the Varsoom district he had come upon the wreckage ofan old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with GreenFlames! If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed.I said, So what? So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would meanif it were true? Green Flames were supposedly destroyed on all planetsafter the Vennox regime crashed. If a quantity of the rock were inexistence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. Of course, I regarded Karn's story as a wild dream, but it madecorking good story material. I wrote it into a novel, and a week afterit was completed, the manuscript was stolen from my study back onEarth. I see, I said as she lapsed into silence. And now you've come to theconclusion that the details of your story were true and that someone isattempting to put your plot into action. Grannie nodded. Yes, she said. That's exactly what I think. I got my pipe out of my pocket, tamped Martian tobacco into the bowland laughed heartily. The same old Flowers, I said. Tell me, who'syour thief ... Doctor Universe? She regarded me evenly. What makes you say that? I shrugged. The way the theater crowd acted. It all ties in. The old woman shook her head. No, this is a lot bigger than a simplequiz program. The theater crowd was but a cross-section of what ishappening all over the System. There have been riots on Earth and Mars,police officials murdered on Pluto and a demand that government byrepresentation be abolished on Jupiter. The time is ripe for a militarydictator to step in. And you can lay it all to the Green Flames. It seems incredible that asingle shipload of the ore could effect such a wide ranged area, but inmy opinion someone has found a means of making that quantity a thousandtimes more potent and is transmiting it en masse . If it had been anyone but Grannie Annie there before me, I wouldhave called her a fool. And then all at once I got an odd feeling ofapproaching danger. Let's get out of here, I said, getting up. Zinnng-whack! All right! On the mirror behind the bar a small circle with radiating cracksappeared. On the booth wall a scant inch above Grannie's head thefresco seemed to melt away suddenly. A heat ray! Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for thedoor. Outside a driverless hydrocar stood with idling motors. The oldwoman threw herself into the control seat, yanked me in after her andthrew over the starting stud. An instant later we were plunging through the dark night. <doc-sep>Six days after leaving Swamp City we reached Level Five, the lastoutpost of firm ground. Ahead lay the inner marsh, stretching as far asthe eye could reach. Low islands projected at intervals from the thickwater. Mold balls, two feet across, drifted down from the slate-graysky like puffs of cotton. We had traveled this far by ganet , the tough little two headed packanimal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would havehad its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic forcebelt that encircled the planet's equator. Now our drivers changed toboatmen, and we loaded our supplies into three clumsy jagua canoes. It was around the camp fire that night that Grannie took me into herconfidence for the first time since we had left Swamp City. We're heading directly for Varsoom country, she said. If we findEzra Karn so much the better. If we don't, we follow his directions tothe lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. Yousee, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from theship. Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hourstossing restlessly. The thousand sounds of the blue marsh dronedsteadily. And the news broadcast I had heard over the portable visijust before retiring still lingered in my mind. To a casual observerthat broadcast would have meant little, a slight rebellion here, anisolated crime there. But viewed from the perspective Grannie hadgiven me, everything dovetailed. The situation on Jupiter was swiftlycoming to a head. Not only had the people on that planet demanded thatrepresentative government be abolished, but a forum was now being heldto find a leader who might take complete dictatorial control. Outside a whisper-worm hissed softly. I got up and strode out of mytent. For some time I stood there, lost in thought. Could I believeGrannie's incredible story? Or was this another of her fantastic plotswhich she had skilfully blended into a novel? Abruptly I stiffened. The familiar drone of the marsh was gone. In itsplace a ringing silence blanketed everything. And then out in the gloom a darker shadow appeared, moving inundulating sweeps toward the center of the camp. Fascinated, I watchedit advance and retreat, saw two hyalescent eyes swim out of the murk.It charged, and with but a split second to act, I threw myself flat.There was a rush of mighty wings as the thing swept over me. Sharptalons raked my clothing. Again it came, and again I rolled swiftly,missing the thing by the narrowest of margins. From the tent opposite a gaunt figure clad in a familiar dressappeared. Grannie gave a single warning: Stand still! The thing in the darkness turned like a cam on a rod and drove at usagain. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery ofpurple flame shot outward. A horrible soul-chilling scream rent theair. A moment later something huge and heavy scrabbled across theground and shot aloft. Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. I stood frozen as the diminuendo of its wild cries echoed back to me. In heaven's name, what was it? Hunter-bird, Grannie said calmly. A form of avian life found herein the swamp. Harmless in its wild state, but when captured, it can betrained to pursue a quarry until it kills. It has a single unit brainand follows with a relentless purpose. Then that would mean...? That it was sent by our enemy, the same enemy that shot at us in thecafe in Swamp City. Exactly. Grannie Annie halted at the door of hertent and faced me with earnest eyes. Billy-boy, our every move isbeing watched. From now on it's the survival of the fittest. <doc-sep>The following day was our seventh in the swamp. The water hereresembled a vast mosaic, striped and cross-striped with long windingribbons of yellowish substance that floated a few inches below thesurface. The mold balls coming into contact with the evonium water ofthe swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesivemulti-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours.The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped hishand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured ina matter of seconds. At high noon by my Earth watch I sighted a low white structure on oneof the distant islands. Moments later we made a landing at a rudejetty, and Grannie Annie was introducing me to Ezra Karn. He was not as old a man as I had expected, but he was ragged andunkempt with iron gray hair falling almost to his shoulders. He wasdressed in varpa cloth, the Venus equivalent of buckskin, and on hishead was an enormous flop-brimmed hat. Glad to meet you, he said, shaking my hand. Any friend of MissFlowers is a friend of mine. He ushered us down the catwalk into hishut. The place was a two room affair, small but comfortable. The latesttype of visi set in one corner showed that Karn was not isolated fromcivilization entirely. Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained theobject of our trip, the prospector became thoughtful. Green Flames, eh? he repeated slowly. Well yes, I suppose I couldfind that space ship again. That is, if I wanted to. What do you mean? Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself acigarette. You know where it is, don't you? Ye-s, Karn nodded. But like I told you before, that ship lies inVarsoom country, and that isn't exactly a summer vacation spot. What are the Varsoom? I asked. A native tribe? Karn shook his head. They're a form of life that's never been seen byEarthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy. Dangerous? Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outsideof myself was the explorer, Darthier, three years ago. I got awaybecause I was alone, and they didn't notice me, and Darthier escapedbecause he made 'em laugh. Laugh? A scowl crossed Grannie's face. That's right, Karn said. The Varsoom have a strange nervous reactionthat's manifested by laughing. But just what it is that makes themlaugh, I don't know. Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut.Several mold guns were borrowed from the prospector's supply to arm theVenusians. And then as we were about to leave, Karn suddenly turned. The Doctor Universe program, he said. I ain't missed one in months.You gotta wait 'til I hear it. Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. Heflipped a stud, twisted a dial and a moment later was leaning back in achair, listening with avid interest. It was the same show I had witnessed back in Swamp City. Once again Iheard questions filter in from the far outposts of the System. Onceagain I saw the commanding figure of the quiz master as he strode backand forth across the stage. And as I sat there, looking into the visiscreen, a curious numbing drowsiness seemed to steal over me and leadmy thoughts far away. <doc-sep>Half an hour later we headed into the unknown. The Venusian boatmenwere ill-at-ease now and jabbered among themselves constantly. Wecamped that night on a miserable little island where insects swarmedabout us in hordes. The next day an indefinable wave of weariness anddespondency beset our entire party. I caught myself musing over thefutility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept mefrom turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning,that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. After that I lost track of time. Day after day of incessant rain ... ofsteaming swamp.... But at length we reached firm ground and began ouradvance on foot. It was Karn who first sighted the ship. Striding in the lead, hesuddenly halted at the top of a hill and leveled his arm before him.There it lay, a huge cigar-shaped vessel of blackened arelium steel,half buried in the swamp soil. What's that thing on top? Karn demanded, puzzled. A rectangular metal envelope had been constructed over the sternquarters of the ship. Above this structure were three tall masts. Andsuspended between them was a network of copper wire studded with whiteinsulators. Grannie gazed a long moment through binoculars. Billy-boy, take threeVenusians and head across the knoll, she ordered. Ezra and I willcircle in from the west. Fire a gun if you strike trouble. But we found no trouble. The scene before us lay steeped in silence.Moments later our two parties converged at the base of the great ship. A metal ladder extended from the envelope down the side of the vessel.Mid-way we could see a circular hatch-like door. Up we go, Billy-boy. Heat gun in readiness, Grannie Annie began toclimb slowly. The silence remained absolute. We reached the door and pulled it open.There was no sign of life. Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble here, Ezra Karn observed. Somebody had. Before us stretched a narrow corridor, flanked on theleft side by a wall of impenetrable stepto glass. The corridor wasbare of furnishings. But beyond the glass, revealed to us in mockingclarity, was a high panel, studded with dials and gauges. Even as welooked, we could see liquid pulse in glass tubes, indicator needlesswing slowly to and fro. Grannie nodded. Some kind of a broadcasting unit. The Green Flames inthe lower hold are probably exposed to a tholpane plate and theirradiations stepped up by an electro-phosicalic process. Karn raised the butt of his pistol and brought it crashing against theglass wall. His arm jumped in recoil, but the glass remained intact. You'll never do it that way, Grannie said. Nothing short of anatomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are noguards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if theGreen Flames are more accessible. In the lower hold disappointment again confronted us. Visible inthe feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in thevessel's hull were tiers of rectangular ingots of green iridescent ore.Suspended by insulators from the ceiling over them was a thick metalplate. But between was a barrier. A wall of impenetrable stepto glass. Grannie stamped her foot. It's maddening, she said. Here we are atthe crux of the whole matter, and we're powerless to make a singlemove. <doc-sep>Outside the day was beginning to wane. The Venusians, apparentlyunawed by the presence of the space ship, had already started a fireand erected the tents. We left the vessel to find a spell of broodingdesolation heavy over the improvised camp. And the evening meal thistime was a gloomy affair. When it was finished, Ezra Karn lit his pipeand switched on the portable visi set. A moment later the silence ofthe march was broken by the opening fanfare of the Doctor Universeprogram. Great stuff, Karn commented. I sent in a couple of questions once,but I never did win nothin'. This Doctor Universe is a great guy. Oughtto make him king or somethin'. For a moment none of us made reply. Then suddenly Grannie Annie leapedto her feet. Say that again! she cried. The old prospector looked startled. Why, I only said they ought tomake this Doctor Universe the big boss and.... That's it! Grannie paced ten yards off into the gathering darknessand returned quickly. Billy-boy, you were right. The man behind this is Doctor Universe. It was he who stole my manuscript and devised amethod to amplify the radiations of the Green Flames in the freighter'shold. He lit on a sure-fire plan to broadcast those radiations in sucha way that millions of persons would be exposed to them simultaneously.Don't you see? I didn't see, but Grannie hurried on. What better way to expose civilized life to the Green Flamesradiations than when the people are in a state of relaxation. TheDoctor Universe quiz program. The whole System tuned in on them, butthey were only a blind to cover up the transmission of the radiationsfrom the ore. Their power must have been amplified a thousandfold, andtheir wave-length must lie somewhere between light and the supersonicscale in that transition band which so far has defied exploration.... But with what motive? I demanded. Why should...? Power! the old woman answered. The old thirst for dictatorialcontrol of the masses. By presenting himself as an intellectual genius,Doctor Universe utilized a bizarre method to intrench himself in theminds of the people. Oh, don't you see, Billy-boy? The Green Flames'radiations spell doom to freedom, individual liberty. I sat there stupidly, wondering if this all were some wild dream. And then, as I looked across at Grannie Annie, the vague light over thetents seemed to shift a little, as if one layer of the atmosphere haddropped away to be replaced by another. There it was again, a definite movement in the air. Somehow I got theimpression I was looking around that space rather than through it. Andsimultaneously Ezra Karn uttered a howl of pain. An instant later theold prospector was rolling over and over, threshing his arms wildly. An invisible sledge hammer descended on my shoulder. The blow wasfollowed by another and another. Heavy unseen hands held me down.Opposite me Grannie Annie and the Venusians were suffering similarpunishment, the latter screaming in pain and bewilderment. It's the Varsoom! Ezra Karn yelled. We've got to make 'em laugh. Ouronly escape is to make 'em laugh! He struggled to his feet and began leaping wildly around the camp fire.Abruptly his foot caught on a log protruding from the fire; he trippedand fell headlong into a mass of hot coals and ashes. Like a jumpingjack he was on his feet again, clawing dirt and soot from his eyes. Out of the empty space about us there came a sudden hush. The unseenblows ceased in mid-career. And then the silence was rent by wildlaughter. Peal after peal of mirthful yells pounded against our ears.For many moments it continued; then it died away, and everything waspeaceful once more. Grannie Annie picked herself up slowly. That was close, she said. Iwouldn't want to go through that again. Ezra Karn nursed an ugly welt under one eye. Those Varsoom got a funnysense of humor, he growled. <doc-sep>Inside the freighter's narrow corridor Grannie faced me with eyesfilled with excitement. Billy-boy, she said, we've got two problems now. We've got to stopDoctor Universe, and we've got to find a way of getting out of here.Right now we're nicely bottled up. As if in answer to her words the visi set revealed the face of the quizmaster on the screen. He was saying: Remember tomorrow at this same hour I will have a message ofunparalleled importance for the people of the nine planets. Tomorrownight I urge you, I command you, to tune in. With a whistling intake of breath the old woman turned to one of theVenusians. Bring all our equipment in here, she ordered. Hurry! She untied the ribbon under her chin and took off her cap. She rolledup her sleeves, and as the Venusians came marching into the space shipwith bundles of equipment, she fell to work. Silently Ezra Karn and I watched her. First she completely dismantledthe visi set, put it together again with an entirely altered hookup.Next she unrolled a coil of flexible copper mesh which we had broughtalong as a protective electrical screening against the marsh insects.She fastened rubberite suction cups to this mesh at intervals of everytwelve inches or more, carried it down to the freighter's hold andfastened it securely against the stepto glass wall. Trailing a three-ply conduit up from the hold to the corridor sheselected an induction coil, several Micro-Wellman tubes and a quantityof wire from a box of spare parts. Dexterously her fingers moved in andout, fashioning a complicated and curious piece of apparatus. At length she finished. It's pretty hay-wire, she said, but I think it will work. Now I'lltell you what I'm going to do. When Doctor Universe broadcasts tomorrownight, he's going to announce that he has set himself up as supremedictator. He'll have the Green Flame radiations coming from this shipunder full power. I'm going to insert into his broadcast—the laughingof the Varsoom! You're going to what? Broadcast the mass laughter from those invisible creatures out there.Visualize it, Billy-boy! At the dramatic moment when Doctor Universemakes his plea for System-wide power, he will be accompanied by wildpeals of laughter. The whole broadcast will be turned into a burlesque. How you going to make 'em laugh? interrupted Karn. We must think of a way, Grannie replied soberly. I, for one, am glad that no representative of the InterstellarPsychiatry Society witnessed our antics during the early hours of thatmorning and on into the long reaches of the afternoon, as we vainlytried to provoke the laughter of the Varsoom. All to no avail. Uttersilence greeted our efforts. And the time was growing close to thescheduled Doctor Universe program. Ezra Karn wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. Maybe we've gotto attract their attention first, he suggested. Miss Flowers, whydon't you go up on the roof and read to 'em? Read 'em something fromone of your books, if you've got one along. That ought to make 'em situp and take notice. For a moment the old woman gazed at him in silence. Then she got to herfeet quickly. I'll do it, she said. I'll read them the attack scene from MurderOn A Space Liner . <doc-sep>It didn't make sense, of course. But nothing made sense in this madventure. Grannie Annie opened her duffel bag and drew out a copy ofher most popular book. With the volume under her arm, she mounted theladder to the top of the envelope. Ezra Karn rigged up a radite searchlamp, and a moment later the old woman stood in the center of a circleof white radiance. Karn gripped my arm. This is it, he said tensely. If this fails ... His voice clipped off as Grannie began to read. She read slowlyat first, then intoned the words and sentences faster and moredramatically. And out in the swamp a vast hush fell as if unseen ears were listening. ... the space liner was over on her beam ends now as another shotfrom the raider's vessel crashed into the stern hold. In the controlcabin Cuthbert Strong twisted vainly at his bonds as he sought to freehimself. Opposite him, lashed by strong Martian vinta ropes to thegravascope, Louise Belmont sobbed softly, wringing her hands in muteappeal. A restless rustling sounded out in the marsh, as if hundreds of bodieswere surging closer. Karn nodded in awe. She's got 'em! he whispered. Listen. They're eatin' up every word. I heard it then, and I thought I must be dreaming. From somewhere outin the swamp a sound rose into the thick air. A high-pitched chuckle,it was. The chuckle came again. Now it was followed by another andanother. An instant later a wave of low subdued laughter rose into theair. Ezra Karn gulped. Gripes! he said. They're laughing already. They're laughing at her book! And look, the old lady's gettin' sore. Up on the roof of the envelope Grannie Annie halted her reading toglare savagely out into the darkness. The laughter was a roar now. It rose louder and louder, peal after pealof mirthful yells and hysterical shouts. And for the first time in mylife, I saw Annabella C. Flowers mad. She stamped her foot; she shookher fist at the unseen hordes out before her. Ignorant slap-happy fools! she screamed. You don't know good sciencefiction when you hear it. I turned to Karn and said quietly, Turn on the visi set. DoctorUniverse should be broadcasting now. Tune your microphone to pull inas much of that laughter as you can. <doc-sep>It took three weeks to make the return trip to Swamp City. The Varsoomfollowed us far beyond the frontier of their country like an unseenarmy in the throes of laughing gas. Not until we reached Level Five didthe last chuckle fade into the distance. All during that trek back, Grannie sat in the dugout, staring silentlyout before her. But when we reached Swamp City, the news was flung at us from allsides. One newspaper headline accurately told the story: DOCTORUNIVERSE BID FOR SYSTEM DICTATORSHIP SQUELCHED BY RIDICULE OF UNSEENAUDIENCE. QUIZ MASTER NOW IN HANDS OF I.P. COUP FAILURE. Grannie, I said that night as we sat again in a rear booth of THEJET, what are you going to do now? Give up writing science fiction? She looked at me soberly, then broke into a smile. Just because some silly form of life that can't even be seen doesn'tappreciate it? I should say not. Right now I've got an idea for a swellyarn about Mars. Want to come along while I dig up some backgroundmaterial? I shook my head. Not me, I said. But I knew I would. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the relationship between Billy and Grannie Annie.

When Grannie Annie shows up at the men’s club to see Billy, the two friends have not seen each other in two years. It is immediately clear that Grannie Annie runs the show in their relationship, in part because Billy is willing to risk his reputation at the men’s club in order to make his elderly friends happy. Within minutes, Billy is whisked away to the theater to watch Annie guest star on Doctor Universe’s show, even though she does not explain the plan to him and he has little interest in being an audience member.Although the rest of the world knows Grannie Annie as Annabella C. Flowers, the name she uses to publish her science fiction novels, Billy would never address her so formally. There is an obvious feeling of trust between the two characters. When Grannie Annie gets her novel stolen and worries that there’s a dictator about to take over the universe, she finds Billy to help her solve the case. Similarly, when Grannie Annie spills her guts about her far-fetched theory about her novel inspiring an evil villain to use the Green Flames to control millions of beings, Billy believes her right off the bat. The pair get along very well, and it’s clear that’s the case when Grannie Annie asks Billy to accompany her on her next trip to research her upcoming novel. Billy simply can’t say no to his friend, whom he deeply admires.

What happens to Ezra Karn throughout the story? [SEP] <s> Doctor Universe By CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, who wrote science fiction under the nom de plume of Annabella C. Flowers, had stumbled onto a murderous plot more hair-raising than any she had ever concocted. And the danger from the villain of the piece didn't worry her—I was the guy he was shooting at. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1944. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I was killing an hour in the billiard room of the Spacemen's Club in Swamp City when the Venusian bellboy came and tapped me on theshoulder. Beg pardon, thir, he said with his racial lisp, thereth thome one tothee you in the main lounge. His eyes rolled as he added, A lady! A woman here...! The Spacemen's was a sanctuary, a rest club wherein-coming pilots and crewmen could relax before leaving for anothervoyage. The rule that no females could pass its portals was strictlyenforced. I followed the bellhop down the long corridor that led to the mainlounge. At the threshold I jerked to a halt and stared incredulously. Grannie Annie! There she stood before a frantically gesticulating desk clerk, leaningon her faded green umbrella. A little wisp of a woman clad in avoluminous black dress with one of those doily-like caps on her head,tied by a ribbon under her chin. Her high-topped button shoes wereplanted firmly on the varpla carpet and her wrinkled face was set incalm defiance. I barged across the lounge and seized her hand. Grannie Annie! Ihaven't seen you in two years. Hi, Billy-boy, she greeted calmly. Will you please tell thisfish-face to shut up. The desk clerk went white. Mithter Trenwith, if thith lady ith afriend of yourth, you'll have to take her away. It'th abtholutelyagainth the ruleth.... Okay, okay, I grinned. Look, we'll go into the grille. There's noone there at this hour. In the grille an equally astonished waiter served us—me a lime rickeyand Grannie Annie her usual whisky sour—I waited until she had tossedthe drink off at a gulp before I set off a chain of questions: What the devil are you doing on Venus? Don't you know women aren'tallowed in the Spacemen's ? What happened to the book you werewriting? Hold it, Billy-boy. Laughingly she threw up both hands. Sure, I knewthis place had some antiquated laws. Pure fiddle-faddle, that's whatthey are. Anyway, I've been thrown out of better places. She hadn't changed. To her publishers and her readers she might beAnnabella C. Flowers, author of a long list of science fiction novels.But to me she was still Grannie Annie, as old-fashioned as last year'shat, as modern as an atomic motor. She had probably written more drivelin the name of science fiction than anyone alive. But the public loved it. They ate up her stories, and they clamored formore. Her annual income totaled into six figures, and her publisherssat back and massaged their digits, watching their earnings mount. One thing you had to admit about her books. They may have been dimenovels, but they weren't synthetic. If Annabella C. Flowers wrote anovel, and the locale was the desert of Mars, she packed her carpet bagand hopped a liner for Craterville. If she cooked up a feud between twoexpeditions on Callisto, she went to Callisto. She was the most completely delightful crackpot I had ever known. What happened to Guns for Ganymede ? I asked. That was the title ofyour last, wasn't it? <doc-sep>Grannie spilled a few shreds of Martian tobacco onto a paper and deftlyrolled herself a cigarette. It wasn't Guns , it was Pistols ; and it wasn't Ganymede , it was Pluto . I grinned. All complete, I'll bet, with threats against the universeand beautiful Earth heroines dragged in by the hair. What else is there in science fiction? she demanded. You can't haveyour hero fall in love with a bug-eyed monster. Up on the wall a clock chimed the hour. The old woman jerked to herfeet. I almost forgot, Billy-boy. I'm due at the Satellite Theater in tenminutes. Come on, you're going with me. Before I realized it, I was following her through the lounge and out tothe jetty front. Grannie Annie hailed a hydrocar. Five minutes later wedrew up before the big doors of the Satellite . They don't go in for style in Swamp City. A theater to the grizzledcolonials on this side of the planet meant a shack on stilts over themuck, zilcon wood seats and dingy atobide lamps. But the place waspacked with miners, freight-crew-men—all the tide and wash of humanitythat made Swamp City the frontier post it is. In front was a big sign. It read: ONE NIGHT ONLY DOCTOR UNIVERSE AND HIS NINE GENIUSES THE QUESTION PROGRAM OF THE SYSTEM As we strode down the aisle a mangy-looking Venusian began to pound atinpan piano in the pit. Grannie Annie pushed me into a seat in thefront row. Sit here, she said. I'm sorry about all this rush, but I'm one ofthe players in this shindig. As soon as the show is over, we'll gosomewhere and talk. She minced lightly down the aisle, climbed thestage steps and disappeared in the wings. That damned fossilized dynamo, I muttered. She'll be the death of meyet. The piano struck a chord in G, and the curtain went rattling up. On thestage four Earthmen, two Martians, two Venusians, and one Mercuriansat on an upraised dais. That is to say, eight of them sat. TheMercurian, a huge lump of granite-like flesh, sprawled there, palpablyuncomfortable. On the right were nine visi sets, each with its newimproved pantascope panel and switchboard. Before each set stood anEarthman operator. <doc-sep>A tall man, clad in a claw-hammer coat, came out from the wings andadvanced to the footlights. People of Swamp City, he said, bowing, permit me to introducemyself. I am Doctor Universe, and these are my nine experts. There was a roar of applause from the Satellite audience. When it hadsubsided, the man continued: As most of you are familiar with our program, it will be unnecessaryto give any advance explanation. I will only say that on this stage arenine visi sets, each tuned to one of the nine planets. At transmittingsets all over these planets listeners will appear and voice questions.These questions, my nine experts will endeavor to answer. For everyquestion missed, the sender will receive a check for one thousand planetoles . One thing more. As usual we have with us a guest star who will matchher wits with the experts. May I present that renowned writer ofscience fiction, Annabella C. Flowers. From the left wing Grannie Annie appeared. She bowed and took her placeon the dais. The Doctor's program began. The operator of the Earth visi twisted hisdials and nodded. Blue light flickered on the pantascope panel tocoalesce slowly into the face of a red-haired man. Sharp and dear hisvoice echoed through the theater: Who was the first Earthman to titter the sunward side of Mercury? Doctor Universe nodded and turned to Grannie Annie who had raised herhand. She said quietly: Charles Zanner in the year 2012. In a specially constructedtracto-car. And so it went. Questions from Mars, from Earth, from Saturn flowed inthe visi sets. Isolated miners on Jupiter, dancers in swank Plutoniancafes strove to stump the experts. With Doctor Universe offeringbantering side play, the experts gave their answers. When they failed,or when the Truthicator flashed a red light, he announced the name ofthe winner. It grew a little tiresome after a while and I wondered why Grannie hadbrought me here. And then I began to notice things. The audience in the Satellite seemed to have lost much of itsoriginal fervor. They applauded as before but they did so only at thesignal of Doctor Universe. The spell created by the man was complete. Pompous and erect, he strode back and forth across the stage like ageneral surveying his army. His black eyes gleamed, and his thin lipswere turned in a smile of satisfaction. When the last question had been answered I joined the exit-movingcrowd. It was outside under the street marquee that a strange incidentoccurred. A yellow-faced Kagor from the upper Martian desert country shuffled by,dragging his cumbersome third leg behind him. Kagors, of course, had anunpleasant history of persecution since the early colonization days ofthe Red Planet. But the thing that happened there was a throw back toan earlier era. Someone shouted, Yah, yellow-face! Down with all Kagors! As oneman the crowd took up the cry and surged forward. The helpless Kagorwas seized and flung to the pavement. A knife appeared from nowhere,snipped the Martian's single lock of hair. A booted foot bludgeonedinto his mouth. Moments later an official hydrocar roared up and a dozen I.P. menrushed out and scattered the crowd. But a few stragglers lingered toshout derisive epithets. Grannie Annie came out from behind the box office then. She took my armand led me around a corner and through a doorway under a sign that readTHE JET. Inside was a deep room with booths along one wall. The placewas all but deserted. In a booth well toward the rear the old lady surveyed me with sobereyes. Billy-boy, did you see the way that crowd acted? I nodded. As disgraceful an exhibition as I've ever seen. The I.P. menought to clamp down. The I.P. men aren't strong enough. She said it quietly, but there was a glitter in her eyes and a harshline about her usually smiling lips. What do you mean? <doc-sep>For a moment the old lady sat there in silence; then she leaned back,closed her eyes, and I knew there was a story coming. My last book, Death In The Atom , hit the stands last January,she began. When it was finished I had planned to take a six months'vacation, but those fool publishers of mine insisted I do a sequel.Well, I'd used Mars and Pluto and Ganymede as settings for novels, sofor this one I decided on Venus. I went to Venus City, and I spent sixweeks in-country. I got some swell background material, and I met EzraKarn.... Who? I interrupted. An old prospector who lives out in the deep marsh on the outskirts ofVarsoom country. To make a long story short, I got him talking abouthis adventures, and he told me plenty. The old woman paused. Did you ever hear of the Green Flames? sheasked abruptly. I shook my head. Some new kind of ... It's not a new kind of anything. The Green Flame is a radio-activerock once found on Mercury. The Alpha rays of this rock are similarto radium in that they consist of streams of material particlesprojected at high speed. But the character of the Gamma rays hasnever been completely analyzed. Like those set up by radium, they areelectromagnetic pulsations, but they are also a strange combination of Beta or cathode rays with negatively charged electrons. When any form of life is exposed to these Gamma rays from the GreenFlame rock, they produce in the creature's brain a certain lassitudeand lack of energy. As the period of exposure increases, this conditiondevelops into a sense of impotence and a desire for leadership orguidance. Occasionally, as with the weak-willed, there is a spirit ofintolerance. The Green Flames might be said to be an inorganic opiate,a thousand times more subtle and more powerful than any known drug. I was sitting up now, hanging on to the woman's every word. Now in 2710, as you'd know if you studied your history, the threeplanets of Earth, Venus, and Mars were under governmental bondage. Thecruel dictatorship of Vennox I was short-lived, but it lasted longenough to endanger all civilized life. The archives tell us that one of the first acts of the overthrowinggovernment was to cast out all Green Flames, two of which Vennox hadordered must be kept in each household. The effect on the people wasimmediate. Representative government, individual enterprise, freedomfollowed. Grannie Annie lit a cigarette and flipped the match to the floor. To go back to my first trip to Venus. As I said, I met Ezra Karn, anold prospector there in the marsh. Karn told me that on one of histravels into the Varsoom district he had come upon the wreckage ofan old space ship. The hold of that space ship was packed with GreenFlames! If Grannie expected me to show surprise at that, she was disappointed.I said, So what? So everything, Billy-boy. Do you realize what such a thing would meanif it were true? Green Flames were supposedly destroyed on all planetsafter the Vennox regime crashed. If a quantity of the rock were inexistence, and it fell into the wrong hands, there'd be trouble. Of course, I regarded Karn's story as a wild dream, but it madecorking good story material. I wrote it into a novel, and a week afterit was completed, the manuscript was stolen from my study back onEarth. I see, I said as she lapsed into silence. And now you've come to theconclusion that the details of your story were true and that someone isattempting to put your plot into action. Grannie nodded. Yes, she said. That's exactly what I think. I got my pipe out of my pocket, tamped Martian tobacco into the bowland laughed heartily. The same old Flowers, I said. Tell me, who'syour thief ... Doctor Universe? She regarded me evenly. What makes you say that? I shrugged. The way the theater crowd acted. It all ties in. The old woman shook her head. No, this is a lot bigger than a simplequiz program. The theater crowd was but a cross-section of what ishappening all over the System. There have been riots on Earth and Mars,police officials murdered on Pluto and a demand that government byrepresentation be abolished on Jupiter. The time is ripe for a militarydictator to step in. And you can lay it all to the Green Flames. It seems incredible that asingle shipload of the ore could effect such a wide ranged area, but inmy opinion someone has found a means of making that quantity a thousandtimes more potent and is transmiting it en masse . If it had been anyone but Grannie Annie there before me, I wouldhave called her a fool. And then all at once I got an odd feeling ofapproaching danger. Let's get out of here, I said, getting up. Zinnng-whack! All right! On the mirror behind the bar a small circle with radiating cracksappeared. On the booth wall a scant inch above Grannie's head thefresco seemed to melt away suddenly. A heat ray! Grannie Annie leaped to her feet, grasped my arm and raced for thedoor. Outside a driverless hydrocar stood with idling motors. The oldwoman threw herself into the control seat, yanked me in after her andthrew over the starting stud. An instant later we were plunging through the dark night. <doc-sep>Six days after leaving Swamp City we reached Level Five, the lastoutpost of firm ground. Ahead lay the inner marsh, stretching as far asthe eye could reach. Low islands projected at intervals from the thickwater. Mold balls, two feet across, drifted down from the slate-graysky like puffs of cotton. We had traveled this far by ganet , the tough little two headed packanimal of the Venus hinterland. Any form of plane or rocket would havehad its motor instantly destroyed, of course, by the magnetic forcebelt that encircled the planet's equator. Now our drivers changed toboatmen, and we loaded our supplies into three clumsy jagua canoes. It was around the camp fire that night that Grannie took me into herconfidence for the first time since we had left Swamp City. We're heading directly for Varsoom country, she said. If we findEzra Karn so much the better. If we don't, we follow his directions tothe lost space ship. Our job is to find that ore and destroy it. Yousee, I'm positive the Green Flames have never been removed from theship. Sleep had never bothered me, yet that night I lay awake for hourstossing restlessly. The thousand sounds of the blue marsh dronedsteadily. And the news broadcast I had heard over the portable visijust before retiring still lingered in my mind. To a casual observerthat broadcast would have meant little, a slight rebellion here, anisolated crime there. But viewed from the perspective Grannie hadgiven me, everything dovetailed. The situation on Jupiter was swiftlycoming to a head. Not only had the people on that planet demanded thatrepresentative government be abolished, but a forum was now being heldto find a leader who might take complete dictatorial control. Outside a whisper-worm hissed softly. I got up and strode out of mytent. For some time I stood there, lost in thought. Could I believeGrannie's incredible story? Or was this another of her fantastic plotswhich she had skilfully blended into a novel? Abruptly I stiffened. The familiar drone of the marsh was gone. In itsplace a ringing silence blanketed everything. And then out in the gloom a darker shadow appeared, moving inundulating sweeps toward the center of the camp. Fascinated, I watchedit advance and retreat, saw two hyalescent eyes swim out of the murk.It charged, and with but a split second to act, I threw myself flat.There was a rush of mighty wings as the thing swept over me. Sharptalons raked my clothing. Again it came, and again I rolled swiftly,missing the thing by the narrowest of margins. From the tent opposite a gaunt figure clad in a familiar dressappeared. Grannie gave a single warning: Stand still! The thing in the darkness turned like a cam on a rod and drove at usagain. This time the old woman's heat gun clicked, and a tracery ofpurple flame shot outward. A horrible soul-chilling scream rent theair. A moment later something huge and heavy scrabbled across theground and shot aloft. Grannie Annie fired with deliberate speed. I stood frozen as the diminuendo of its wild cries echoed back to me. In heaven's name, what was it? Hunter-bird, Grannie said calmly. A form of avian life found herein the swamp. Harmless in its wild state, but when captured, it can betrained to pursue a quarry until it kills. It has a single unit brainand follows with a relentless purpose. Then that would mean...? That it was sent by our enemy, the same enemy that shot at us in thecafe in Swamp City. Exactly. Grannie Annie halted at the door of hertent and faced me with earnest eyes. Billy-boy, our every move isbeing watched. From now on it's the survival of the fittest. <doc-sep>The following day was our seventh in the swamp. The water hereresembled a vast mosaic, striped and cross-striped with long windingribbons of yellowish substance that floated a few inches below thesurface. The mold balls coming into contact with the evonium water ofthe swamp had undergone a chemical change and evolved into a cohesivemulti-celled marine life that lived and died within a space of hours.The Venusians paddled with extreme care. Had one of them dipped hishand into one of those yellow streaks, he would have been devoured ina matter of seconds. At high noon by my Earth watch I sighted a low white structure on oneof the distant islands. Moments later we made a landing at a rudejetty, and Grannie Annie was introducing me to Ezra Karn. He was not as old a man as I had expected, but he was ragged andunkempt with iron gray hair falling almost to his shoulders. He wasdressed in varpa cloth, the Venus equivalent of buckskin, and on hishead was an enormous flop-brimmed hat. Glad to meet you, he said, shaking my hand. Any friend of MissFlowers is a friend of mine. He ushered us down the catwalk into hishut. The place was a two room affair, small but comfortable. The latesttype of visi set in one corner showed that Karn was not isolated fromcivilization entirely. Grannie Annie came to the point abruptly. When she had explained theobject of our trip, the prospector became thoughtful. Green Flames, eh? he repeated slowly. Well yes, I suppose I couldfind that space ship again. That is, if I wanted to. What do you mean? Grannie paused in the act of rolling herself acigarette. You know where it is, don't you? Ye-s, Karn nodded. But like I told you before, that ship lies inVarsoom country, and that isn't exactly a summer vacation spot. What are the Varsoom? I asked. A native tribe? Karn shook his head. They're a form of life that's never been seen byEarthmen. Strictly speaking, they're no more than a form of energy. Dangerous? Yes and no. Only man I ever heard of who escaped their country outsideof myself was the explorer, Darthier, three years ago. I got awaybecause I was alone, and they didn't notice me, and Darthier escapedbecause he made 'em laugh. Laugh? A scowl crossed Grannie's face. That's right, Karn said. The Varsoom have a strange nervous reactionthat's manifested by laughing. But just what it is that makes themlaugh, I don't know. Food supplies and fresh drinking water were replenished at the hut.Several mold guns were borrowed from the prospector's supply to arm theVenusians. And then as we were about to leave, Karn suddenly turned. The Doctor Universe program, he said. I ain't missed one in months.You gotta wait 'til I hear it. Grannie frowned in annoyance, but the prospector was adamant. Heflipped a stud, twisted a dial and a moment later was leaning back in achair, listening with avid interest. It was the same show I had witnessed back in Swamp City. Once again Iheard questions filter in from the far outposts of the System. Onceagain I saw the commanding figure of the quiz master as he strode backand forth across the stage. And as I sat there, looking into the visiscreen, a curious numbing drowsiness seemed to steal over me and leadmy thoughts far away. <doc-sep>Half an hour later we headed into the unknown. The Venusian boatmenwere ill-at-ease now and jabbered among themselves constantly. Wecamped that night on a miserable little island where insects swarmedabout us in hordes. The next day an indefinable wave of weariness anddespondency beset our entire party. I caught myself musing over thefutility of the venture. Only the pleadings of Grannie Annie kept mefrom turning back. On the morrow I realized the truth in her warning,that all of us had been exposed to the insidious radiations. After that I lost track of time. Day after day of incessant rain ... ofsteaming swamp.... But at length we reached firm ground and began ouradvance on foot. It was Karn who first sighted the ship. Striding in the lead, hesuddenly halted at the top of a hill and leveled his arm before him.There it lay, a huge cigar-shaped vessel of blackened arelium steel,half buried in the swamp soil. What's that thing on top? Karn demanded, puzzled. A rectangular metal envelope had been constructed over the sternquarters of the ship. Above this structure were three tall masts. Andsuspended between them was a network of copper wire studded with whiteinsulators. Grannie gazed a long moment through binoculars. Billy-boy, take threeVenusians and head across the knoll, she ordered. Ezra and I willcircle in from the west. Fire a gun if you strike trouble. But we found no trouble. The scene before us lay steeped in silence.Moments later our two parties converged at the base of the great ship. A metal ladder extended from the envelope down the side of the vessel.Mid-way we could see a circular hatch-like door. Up we go, Billy-boy. Heat gun in readiness, Grannie Annie began toclimb slowly. The silence remained absolute. We reached the door and pulled it open.There was no sign of life. Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble here, Ezra Karn observed. Somebody had. Before us stretched a narrow corridor, flanked on theleft side by a wall of impenetrable stepto glass. The corridor wasbare of furnishings. But beyond the glass, revealed to us in mockingclarity, was a high panel, studded with dials and gauges. Even as welooked, we could see liquid pulse in glass tubes, indicator needlesswing slowly to and fro. Grannie nodded. Some kind of a broadcasting unit. The Green Flames inthe lower hold are probably exposed to a tholpane plate and theirradiations stepped up by an electro-phosicalic process. Karn raised the butt of his pistol and brought it crashing against theglass wall. His arm jumped in recoil, but the glass remained intact. You'll never do it that way, Grannie said. Nothing short of anatomic blast will shatter that wall. It explains why there are noguards here. The mechanism is entirely self-operating. Let's see if theGreen Flames are more accessible. In the lower hold disappointment again confronted us. Visible inthe feeble shafts of daylight that filtered through cracks in thevessel's hull were tiers of rectangular ingots of green iridescent ore.Suspended by insulators from the ceiling over them was a thick metalplate. But between was a barrier. A wall of impenetrable stepto glass. Grannie stamped her foot. It's maddening, she said. Here we are atthe crux of the whole matter, and we're powerless to make a singlemove. <doc-sep>Outside the day was beginning to wane. The Venusians, apparentlyunawed by the presence of the space ship, had already started a fireand erected the tents. We left the vessel to find a spell of broodingdesolation heavy over the improvised camp. And the evening meal thistime was a gloomy affair. When it was finished, Ezra Karn lit his pipeand switched on the portable visi set. A moment later the silence ofthe march was broken by the opening fanfare of the Doctor Universeprogram. Great stuff, Karn commented. I sent in a couple of questions once,but I never did win nothin'. This Doctor Universe is a great guy. Oughtto make him king or somethin'. For a moment none of us made reply. Then suddenly Grannie Annie leapedto her feet. Say that again! she cried. The old prospector looked startled. Why, I only said they ought tomake this Doctor Universe the big boss and.... That's it! Grannie paced ten yards off into the gathering darknessand returned quickly. Billy-boy, you were right. The man behind this is Doctor Universe. It was he who stole my manuscript and devised amethod to amplify the radiations of the Green Flames in the freighter'shold. He lit on a sure-fire plan to broadcast those radiations in sucha way that millions of persons would be exposed to them simultaneously.Don't you see? I didn't see, but Grannie hurried on. What better way to expose civilized life to the Green Flamesradiations than when the people are in a state of relaxation. TheDoctor Universe quiz program. The whole System tuned in on them, butthey were only a blind to cover up the transmission of the radiationsfrom the ore. Their power must have been amplified a thousandfold, andtheir wave-length must lie somewhere between light and the supersonicscale in that transition band which so far has defied exploration.... But with what motive? I demanded. Why should...? Power! the old woman answered. The old thirst for dictatorialcontrol of the masses. By presenting himself as an intellectual genius,Doctor Universe utilized a bizarre method to intrench himself in theminds of the people. Oh, don't you see, Billy-boy? The Green Flames'radiations spell doom to freedom, individual liberty. I sat there stupidly, wondering if this all were some wild dream. And then, as I looked across at Grannie Annie, the vague light over thetents seemed to shift a little, as if one layer of the atmosphere haddropped away to be replaced by another. There it was again, a definite movement in the air. Somehow I got theimpression I was looking around that space rather than through it. Andsimultaneously Ezra Karn uttered a howl of pain. An instant later theold prospector was rolling over and over, threshing his arms wildly. An invisible sledge hammer descended on my shoulder. The blow wasfollowed by another and another. Heavy unseen hands held me down.Opposite me Grannie Annie and the Venusians were suffering similarpunishment, the latter screaming in pain and bewilderment. It's the Varsoom! Ezra Karn yelled. We've got to make 'em laugh. Ouronly escape is to make 'em laugh! He struggled to his feet and began leaping wildly around the camp fire.Abruptly his foot caught on a log protruding from the fire; he trippedand fell headlong into a mass of hot coals and ashes. Like a jumpingjack he was on his feet again, clawing dirt and soot from his eyes. Out of the empty space about us there came a sudden hush. The unseenblows ceased in mid-career. And then the silence was rent by wildlaughter. Peal after peal of mirthful yells pounded against our ears.For many moments it continued; then it died away, and everything waspeaceful once more. Grannie Annie picked herself up slowly. That was close, she said. Iwouldn't want to go through that again. Ezra Karn nursed an ugly welt under one eye. Those Varsoom got a funnysense of humor, he growled. <doc-sep>Inside the freighter's narrow corridor Grannie faced me with eyesfilled with excitement. Billy-boy, she said, we've got two problems now. We've got to stopDoctor Universe, and we've got to find a way of getting out of here.Right now we're nicely bottled up. As if in answer to her words the visi set revealed the face of the quizmaster on the screen. He was saying: Remember tomorrow at this same hour I will have a message ofunparalleled importance for the people of the nine planets. Tomorrownight I urge you, I command you, to tune in. With a whistling intake of breath the old woman turned to one of theVenusians. Bring all our equipment in here, she ordered. Hurry! She untied the ribbon under her chin and took off her cap. She rolledup her sleeves, and as the Venusians came marching into the space shipwith bundles of equipment, she fell to work. Silently Ezra Karn and I watched her. First she completely dismantledthe visi set, put it together again with an entirely altered hookup.Next she unrolled a coil of flexible copper mesh which we had broughtalong as a protective electrical screening against the marsh insects.She fastened rubberite suction cups to this mesh at intervals of everytwelve inches or more, carried it down to the freighter's hold andfastened it securely against the stepto glass wall. Trailing a three-ply conduit up from the hold to the corridor sheselected an induction coil, several Micro-Wellman tubes and a quantityof wire from a box of spare parts. Dexterously her fingers moved in andout, fashioning a complicated and curious piece of apparatus. At length she finished. It's pretty hay-wire, she said, but I think it will work. Now I'lltell you what I'm going to do. When Doctor Universe broadcasts tomorrownight, he's going to announce that he has set himself up as supremedictator. He'll have the Green Flame radiations coming from this shipunder full power. I'm going to insert into his broadcast—the laughingof the Varsoom! You're going to what? Broadcast the mass laughter from those invisible creatures out there.Visualize it, Billy-boy! At the dramatic moment when Doctor Universemakes his plea for System-wide power, he will be accompanied by wildpeals of laughter. The whole broadcast will be turned into a burlesque. How you going to make 'em laugh? interrupted Karn. We must think of a way, Grannie replied soberly. I, for one, am glad that no representative of the InterstellarPsychiatry Society witnessed our antics during the early hours of thatmorning and on into the long reaches of the afternoon, as we vainlytried to provoke the laughter of the Varsoom. All to no avail. Uttersilence greeted our efforts. And the time was growing close to thescheduled Doctor Universe program. Ezra Karn wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow. Maybe we've gotto attract their attention first, he suggested. Miss Flowers, whydon't you go up on the roof and read to 'em? Read 'em something fromone of your books, if you've got one along. That ought to make 'em situp and take notice. For a moment the old woman gazed at him in silence. Then she got to herfeet quickly. I'll do it, she said. I'll read them the attack scene from MurderOn A Space Liner . <doc-sep>It didn't make sense, of course. But nothing made sense in this madventure. Grannie Annie opened her duffel bag and drew out a copy ofher most popular book. With the volume under her arm, she mounted theladder to the top of the envelope. Ezra Karn rigged up a radite searchlamp, and a moment later the old woman stood in the center of a circleof white radiance. Karn gripped my arm. This is it, he said tensely. If this fails ... His voice clipped off as Grannie began to read. She read slowlyat first, then intoned the words and sentences faster and moredramatically. And out in the swamp a vast hush fell as if unseen ears were listening. ... the space liner was over on her beam ends now as another shotfrom the raider's vessel crashed into the stern hold. In the controlcabin Cuthbert Strong twisted vainly at his bonds as he sought to freehimself. Opposite him, lashed by strong Martian vinta ropes to thegravascope, Louise Belmont sobbed softly, wringing her hands in muteappeal. A restless rustling sounded out in the marsh, as if hundreds of bodieswere surging closer. Karn nodded in awe. She's got 'em! he whispered. Listen. They're eatin' up every word. I heard it then, and I thought I must be dreaming. From somewhere outin the swamp a sound rose into the thick air. A high-pitched chuckle,it was. The chuckle came again. Now it was followed by another andanother. An instant later a wave of low subdued laughter rose into theair. Ezra Karn gulped. Gripes! he said. They're laughing already. They're laughing at her book! And look, the old lady's gettin' sore. Up on the roof of the envelope Grannie Annie halted her reading toglare savagely out into the darkness. The laughter was a roar now. It rose louder and louder, peal after pealof mirthful yells and hysterical shouts. And for the first time in mylife, I saw Annabella C. Flowers mad. She stamped her foot; she shookher fist at the unseen hordes out before her. Ignorant slap-happy fools! she screamed. You don't know good sciencefiction when you hear it. I turned to Karn and said quietly, Turn on the visi set. DoctorUniverse should be broadcasting now. Tune your microphone to pull inas much of that laughter as you can. <doc-sep>It took three weeks to make the return trip to Swamp City. The Varsoomfollowed us far beyond the frontier of their country like an unseenarmy in the throes of laughing gas. Not until we reached Level Five didthe last chuckle fade into the distance. All during that trek back, Grannie sat in the dugout, staring silentlyout before her. But when we reached Swamp City, the news was flung at us from allsides. One newspaper headline accurately told the story: DOCTORUNIVERSE BID FOR SYSTEM DICTATORSHIP SQUELCHED BY RIDICULE OF UNSEENAUDIENCE. QUIZ MASTER NOW IN HANDS OF I.P. COUP FAILURE. Grannie, I said that night as we sat again in a rear booth of THEJET, what are you going to do now? Give up writing science fiction? She looked at me soberly, then broke into a smile. Just because some silly form of life that can't even be seen doesn'tappreciate it? I should say not. Right now I've got an idea for a swellyarn about Mars. Want to come along while I dig up some backgroundmaterial? I shook my head. Not me, I said. But I knew I would. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What happens to Ezra Karn throughout the story?

Grannie Annie first meets Ezra Karn when she goes to Venus City to research the setting for her novel. Ezra Karn is a prospector who lives in a deep marsh in Varsoom country. Grannie Annie learns that the Green Flames were not all destroyed after the last dictatorship when he tells her that he stumbled upon the resource in an abandoned spaceship. Grannie Annie and Billy find Karn at his hut in the marsh. They ask Karn to take them to the Green Flames, and after some hesitation, he agrees. He knows that the only way to defeat the Varsoom is to make them laugh, but he does not know what exactly they think is funny. He is a huge fan of Doctor Universe, and he never misses a show. Ezra Karn successfully takes Grannie Annie and Billy to the spaceship he previously found. Within moments of laying eyes on it, Karl yells out in pain. He rolls around on the ground, trying to stand but failing. He informs his companions that the force he is dealing with is the Varsoom, and the only way to end the madness is to make them laugh. When it’s time to interrupt Doctor Universe’s broadcast to stop him from taking over the universe, it is Karn’s idea to have Grannie Annie read her book to the Varsoom. He does not realize that they will find it funny, but he does think it’s a good way to get the invisible creatures’ attention. He essentially saves everyone, since Grannie Annie’s book makes the Varsoom laugh and laugh and make it impossible for Doctor Universe to control the minds of the masses.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> IMAGE OF SPLENDOR By LU KELLA From Venus to Earth, and all the way between, it was a hell of a world for men ... and Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly particularly. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The intercom roared fit to blow O'Rielly back to Venus. Burner Four! On my way, sir! At the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice BurnermanO'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head; he was alreadythrowing open the lock to the burner room. The hot, throbbing rumblewhipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power ofthe universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given onechance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. Thethrobbing rumble changed tone. Old Callahan's voice crackled now through the helmet's ear contact.Well, Mr. O'Rielly? Fusion control two points low, sir. O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the oldBurner Chief demanded hoarsely, Didn't you lock them controls beforeblast-off? If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting, O'Riellyanswered from his own angry bewilderment, the error would haveregistered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir? So a control reset itself in flight, hey? I don't know yet, sir. Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth! The icy knot in O'Rielly's stomach jerked tighter. A dozen burners onthis ship; why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In ahundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Riellyin pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But onehad moved here. Not enough to cause serious trouble this far out fromEarth. On blast-down, though, with one jet below peak, the uneventhrust could throw the ship, crash it, the whole lovely thing and allaboard gone in a churning cloud. Sweat pouring off him, O'Rielly prowled around his burner. Design ofthe thing had been bossed by dames of course; what on Earth wasn't anymore? Anyway, nobody could get to a burner except through its watchroom. Anyone entered or left there, a bell clanged, lights flashedand a meter registered beside the Burnerman's bunk and on the BurnerChief's console up in the flight room full of beautifully efficientofficers. Ever since Venus blast-off O'Rielly had been in Four's watchroom. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it.By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probablyinquired what was in charge of Burner Four. Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailedmouse of Venus could have stowed away. His first flight, and O'Riellysaw himself washed out, busted to sweeper on the blast-off stands ofsome God-forsaken satellite. He staggered back into his watch room. Andhis brain was suddenly taken apart and slapped together again. Feltthat way. She was sitting on his bunk. No three-tailed mouse. No Old Womaneither. Oh, she was a female human, though, this creature at whichO'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am! I was in your burner room. Her voice matched the rest of her, a blendof loveliness unlike anything outside a guy's most secret dreams. Icouldn't stand the heat any longer and I couldn't open that big door.So I moved one of your controls a tiny bit. All the noise in there,naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turnedresetting the control. <doc-sep>O'Rielly suddenly felt like turning her over his knee and whaling heruntil she couldn't sit for a year. This, mind you, he felt in an agewhere no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as abreath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male charactertrait, however, did not seem to be the overpowering reason whyO'Rielly, instead of laying violent hands upon this one's person, heardhimself saying in sympathetic outrage, A shame you had to go to allthat bother to get out here! You're so kind. But I'm afraid I became rather sticky and smelly inthere. They ought to cool the air in there with perfume! I'll drop asuggestion in the Old Woman's box first chance I get. You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities? That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you! You're so sweet. Her big dark eyes glowed with such pure innocencethat O'Rielly could have torn down the universe and rebuilt it just forher. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly was floating on a pink cloud with heavenly musicin his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layoverwhen he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads whohad a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money. A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lightsflashed wildly. Only the watch room door. Only Callahan here now. Oldbuzzard had a drooped nose like a pick, chin like a shovel. When he talked he was like digging a hole in front of himself. Well,what about that control? What control? Your fusion control that got itself two points low! Oh, that little thing. Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Riellysharply. Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again?Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyllagain probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner. Charmed to, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly said while bowinggracefully. Higher than a swacked skunk's tail again, Callahan muttered, thensnapped back over his shoulder, Use your shower! O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted thatBurner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's,would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now.Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary.Oh, very quite! You rockhead! Only Callahan back from the burner. Didn't I tell youto shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwigon tour the ship. Old Woman catches you like you been rassling skunksshe'll peel both our hides off. Not to mention what she'll do anywayabout your fusion control! Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded courteously, I havebeen thinking. With what? Never mind, just keep on trying whilst I have a shower formyself here. Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's showerdoor. Venus dames, O'Rielly said dreamily, don't boss anything, do they? Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant.O'Rielly! You trying to get both of us condemned to a Uranus moon?Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFFposition; the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could nothave overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like thedevil was behind him with the fork ready. O'Rielly, open your big earswhilst for your own good and mine I speak of certain matters. Thousand years ago, it was, the first flight reached Venus. Guysgot one look at them dames. Had to bring some home or bust. So theneverybody on Earth got a look, mostly by TV only of course. That didit. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give upthe shirt off his back, last buck in the bank, his own Earth dame orfamily—everything. Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild catswith knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venusdames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small topick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus onesback where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot onEarth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with anelectron microscope. <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal. No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices. Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame. Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints! Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he? So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run. Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum. Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em. Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys. With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much? Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman? Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully. Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast! Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever. O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta! Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago. <doc-sep>Hah? What? Callahan blinked like his brain had been taken apart andwas being slapped together again. O'Rielly! Awp, you angel-facedpirate, couldn't you hide her somewheres better than that? Shut up,you don't have to explain to me, but God help the whole universe if wedon't flimflam the Old Woman! With which ominous remark, rendered ina zesty devil-may-care manner, however, Callahan threw himself intoO'Rielly's shower. O'Rielly stood looking thoughtfully at lovely, womanly, exquisiteTrillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as aspiral nebula. My locker! he crowed with inspiration and yanked openthe doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the capand coverall uniform of a baggage boy. I threw them in there before you came on duty before blast-off,Trillium explained. I knew the burner room would be warm. Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through thisship. O'Rielly chortled as he tucked her under his bunk. Now don't youworry about another thing! Oh, I'm not, she assured him happily. Everything is going just theway Grandmamma knew it would! O'Rielly's shower opened and Callahan, glowing like a young bucko,bounced onto the bunk. Well, did you hide her good this time? No,don't tell me! I want to be surprised if the Old Woman ever finds her. If what old woman finds whom? a voice like thin ice crackling wantedto know. The watch room's door had opened. Wouldn't think the Old Woman was aday over seventy-five, let alone near two hundred. Cut of her uniformprobably lent a helping hand or three to the young snap of her figure.Frosty blue of fancy hair-do, she was, though, and icy of eye as shelooked at O'Rielly and Callahan still lolling on the bunk. Her voice was an iceberg exploding. At attention! Never in his right mind would any crewman dare fail to come stifflyerect the instant the Old Woman appeared. Behind her stood a colorfullyrobed specimen of Venus man. Handsome as the devil himself. Fit to snaplesser men in two with his highly bejeweled hands. Fuzzy beards trailedfrom his ears and kept twitching lazily as he sneered at the spectacleof two men meekly acknowledging the superiority of a woman. She was fit to put frost on a hydrogen burner. Mr. Callahan, I askedyou a question, did I not? Believe you did, ma'am, Callahan responded cheerfully. And theanswer is, ma'am, that Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly and me wasdiscussing—ah—matrimony, ma'am. Mr. Apprentice Burnerman O'Riellyhere is considering it, ma'am. Wasn't too bad a fib. The more O'Rielly thought of Trillium, the moreideas he got of doing things he'd never dreamt of before in his life.Yes, ma'am! Wasting your time talking nonsense! Old Woman's look was fit tofreeze O'Rielly's brain, then she gave Callahan the look. I sent youdown here to find the answer to that fusion control slippage! Oh, you'll have the best answer you ever heard of before long, ma'am!Callahan assured her heartily. The subject of nonsense—I mean,women—merely chanced to arise whilst we was scientifically analyzingthe control phenomenon, ma'am. Naturally I offered this innocent youngBurnerman the benefit of me long years of experience. Why, Callahansaid with a jaunty laugh, dames mean nothing to me. Indeed 'twouldn'tbother me none if there wasn't one of the things left in the world!Present company excepted, of course, Callahan hastened to say with acourtly bow. Stay at attention! Old Woman sniffed the air near Callahan's face,then in O'Rielly's vicinity. Smothered it with chlorophyll probably,she muttered through her teeth, if it is that vino. Somethinghorrible as a plague flickered in her eyes, then the old ice was thereagain. Apprentice Burnerman, don't you know what your shower is for?Then use it! Mr. Callahan, remain at attention while I inspect thisburner! She tendered a cool glance at the Venus bigwig. Care to joinme, Your Excellency? May as well. His Excellency glanced at O'Rielly and Callahan much ashe might at a couple of worms. Could bet your last old sox no femaleever told any Venus man what to do. The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than twosteps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possiblyblowing her gaskets completely, O'Rielly simply stepped in, shut thedoor, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansedof person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and HisExcellency were already coming out of the burner room, dripping withsweat. Old Woman opened the shower with her customary commanding air. Youfirst, Your Excellency. My dear Captain, His Excellency replied like a smoothly drawn dagger,always the lesser gender enjoys precedence. No Earth dame ever admitted any guy was even equal to any female. OldWoman, a prime symbol of her gender's superiority, whipped a razor edgeonto her own words. Facilities of the Captain's quarters are moresatisfactory. No more so than those of the Ambassadorial Suite. <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy. Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever. A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse. Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium! Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you? Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could. There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet. Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this! May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight! May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war! Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along! O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life. Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up. Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency. Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant. Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting. Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts. Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries. The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody. The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense? Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance. Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now! The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS. So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen. By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly. An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there! Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful. Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth! Very well. Grandmamma told me how. <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience. Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power. Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history. Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory! Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience. Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials. The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta? I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew. Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest. The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations. Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose. What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary. You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go? Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess. O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma? Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all. I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.' Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not. But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever. Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears. So what? Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

O’Rielly is an apprentice maintaining Burner Four during his first flight on a spaceship traveling between Venus and Earth. The story begins when his supervisor, Burner Chief Callahan, alerts O’Rielly that one of the controls on his burner has slipped, so he sets about resetting the controls to prevent the ship from crashing when it starts its descent toward Earth. He searches his watch room and around the burner looking for a mouse or anyone who might have moved the control. He thinks about Captain Millicent Hatwoody, the ship’s commander nicknamed “Old Woman”, and worries she will exile him to a distant moon if she discovers the issue. During his search, he discovers a stowaway Venusian woman named Trillium on his bunk bed, and she tells him she had moved the control in order to escape the burner room where she was hiding. O’Rielly is struck by her beauty and allows her to shower in his bathroom. While she is showering, Callahan to interrogate O’Rielly and instructs him to take a shower because Captain Hatwoody is bringing a guest to tour the facilities. He reminds O’Rielly of the history of the Earth women’s supremacy over men, which began as a response to the Earth men’s infatuation with Venusian women. When they established dominance, the Earth women returned the Venusian women to their planet. Consequently, the Venusian men warned of war if any Earth men attempted to contact Venusian women. For their part, Venusian women would be killed if they tried to leave. To soften the threat, Venus agreed to let Earth purchase products at a lower cost. O’Rielly reminds Callahan that no Earth man has seen a Venusian woman in 125 years, and Callahan tells the story—an Earth man disguised himself as a Venusian in order to visit his love, a Venusian woman named Berta. When Trillium returns, she reveals that she is Berta’s granddaughter. She hides again before Captain Hatwoody arrives. The captain and her guest, a Venusian ambassador named Dimdooly, investigate the burner, and their interactions reveal conflicting attitudes towards gender superiority on Earth versus Venus. As they leave, Trillium reveals herself, and Dimdooly recognizes her as the Venusian president’s granddaughter. Captain Hatwoody then calls the presidents of both planets, who begin to blame each other and threaten war. Trillium explains that it was Berta, the president’s wife, who taught her how to stowaway, as she had done so herself 125 years prior. She reveals her purpose for stowing away was to draw attention to her revolutionary vision—to convince Earth to stop purchasing products from Venus, thus stopping their cash flow to fund wars. She explains the wars distract Venusian men, and that is why the women are attracted to Earth men. While the president balks, his wife orders him to step aside as she has been elected new President of Venus, and the Venusian women are taking over. Trillium is rewarded with Dimdooly’s ambassadorship, and Callahan and O’Rielly are sent back to work.

Describe the setting of the story. [SEP] <s> IMAGE OF SPLENDOR By LU KELLA From Venus to Earth, and all the way between, it was a hell of a world for men ... and Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly particularly. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The intercom roared fit to blow O'Rielly back to Venus. Burner Four! On my way, sir! At the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice BurnermanO'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head; he was alreadythrowing open the lock to the burner room. The hot, throbbing rumblewhipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power ofthe universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given onechance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. Thethrobbing rumble changed tone. Old Callahan's voice crackled now through the helmet's ear contact.Well, Mr. O'Rielly? Fusion control two points low, sir. O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the oldBurner Chief demanded hoarsely, Didn't you lock them controls beforeblast-off? If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting, O'Riellyanswered from his own angry bewilderment, the error would haveregistered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir? So a control reset itself in flight, hey? I don't know yet, sir. Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth! The icy knot in O'Rielly's stomach jerked tighter. A dozen burners onthis ship; why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In ahundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Riellyin pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But onehad moved here. Not enough to cause serious trouble this far out fromEarth. On blast-down, though, with one jet below peak, the uneventhrust could throw the ship, crash it, the whole lovely thing and allaboard gone in a churning cloud. Sweat pouring off him, O'Rielly prowled around his burner. Design ofthe thing had been bossed by dames of course; what on Earth wasn't anymore? Anyway, nobody could get to a burner except through its watchroom. Anyone entered or left there, a bell clanged, lights flashedand a meter registered beside the Burnerman's bunk and on the BurnerChief's console up in the flight room full of beautifully efficientofficers. Ever since Venus blast-off O'Rielly had been in Four's watchroom. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it.By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probablyinquired what was in charge of Burner Four. Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailedmouse of Venus could have stowed away. His first flight, and O'Riellysaw himself washed out, busted to sweeper on the blast-off stands ofsome God-forsaken satellite. He staggered back into his watch room. Andhis brain was suddenly taken apart and slapped together again. Feltthat way. She was sitting on his bunk. No three-tailed mouse. No Old Womaneither. Oh, she was a female human, though, this creature at whichO'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am! I was in your burner room. Her voice matched the rest of her, a blendof loveliness unlike anything outside a guy's most secret dreams. Icouldn't stand the heat any longer and I couldn't open that big door.So I moved one of your controls a tiny bit. All the noise in there,naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turnedresetting the control. <doc-sep>O'Rielly suddenly felt like turning her over his knee and whaling heruntil she couldn't sit for a year. This, mind you, he felt in an agewhere no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as abreath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male charactertrait, however, did not seem to be the overpowering reason whyO'Rielly, instead of laying violent hands upon this one's person, heardhimself saying in sympathetic outrage, A shame you had to go to allthat bother to get out here! You're so kind. But I'm afraid I became rather sticky and smelly inthere. They ought to cool the air in there with perfume! I'll drop asuggestion in the Old Woman's box first chance I get. You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities? That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you! You're so sweet. Her big dark eyes glowed with such pure innocencethat O'Rielly could have torn down the universe and rebuilt it just forher. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly was floating on a pink cloud with heavenly musicin his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layoverwhen he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads whohad a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money. A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lightsflashed wildly. Only the watch room door. Only Callahan here now. Oldbuzzard had a drooped nose like a pick, chin like a shovel. When he talked he was like digging a hole in front of himself. Well,what about that control? What control? Your fusion control that got itself two points low! Oh, that little thing. Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Riellysharply. Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again?Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyllagain probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner. Charmed to, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly said while bowinggracefully. Higher than a swacked skunk's tail again, Callahan muttered, thensnapped back over his shoulder, Use your shower! O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted thatBurner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's,would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now.Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary.Oh, very quite! You rockhead! Only Callahan back from the burner. Didn't I tell youto shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwigon tour the ship. Old Woman catches you like you been rassling skunksshe'll peel both our hides off. Not to mention what she'll do anywayabout your fusion control! Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded courteously, I havebeen thinking. With what? Never mind, just keep on trying whilst I have a shower formyself here. Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's showerdoor. Venus dames, O'Rielly said dreamily, don't boss anything, do they? Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant.O'Rielly! You trying to get both of us condemned to a Uranus moon?Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFFposition; the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could nothave overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like thedevil was behind him with the fork ready. O'Rielly, open your big earswhilst for your own good and mine I speak of certain matters. Thousand years ago, it was, the first flight reached Venus. Guysgot one look at them dames. Had to bring some home or bust. So theneverybody on Earth got a look, mostly by TV only of course. That didit. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give upthe shirt off his back, last buck in the bank, his own Earth dame orfamily—everything. Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild catswith knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venusdames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small topick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus onesback where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot onEarth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with anelectron microscope. <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal. No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices. Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame. Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints! Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he? So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run. Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum. Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em. Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys. With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much? Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman? Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully. Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast! Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever. O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta! Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago. <doc-sep>Hah? What? Callahan blinked like his brain had been taken apart andwas being slapped together again. O'Rielly! Awp, you angel-facedpirate, couldn't you hide her somewheres better than that? Shut up,you don't have to explain to me, but God help the whole universe if wedon't flimflam the Old Woman! With which ominous remark, rendered ina zesty devil-may-care manner, however, Callahan threw himself intoO'Rielly's shower. O'Rielly stood looking thoughtfully at lovely, womanly, exquisiteTrillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as aspiral nebula. My locker! he crowed with inspiration and yanked openthe doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the capand coverall uniform of a baggage boy. I threw them in there before you came on duty before blast-off,Trillium explained. I knew the burner room would be warm. Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through thisship. O'Rielly chortled as he tucked her under his bunk. Now don't youworry about another thing! Oh, I'm not, she assured him happily. Everything is going just theway Grandmamma knew it would! O'Rielly's shower opened and Callahan, glowing like a young bucko,bounced onto the bunk. Well, did you hide her good this time? No,don't tell me! I want to be surprised if the Old Woman ever finds her. If what old woman finds whom? a voice like thin ice crackling wantedto know. The watch room's door had opened. Wouldn't think the Old Woman was aday over seventy-five, let alone near two hundred. Cut of her uniformprobably lent a helping hand or three to the young snap of her figure.Frosty blue of fancy hair-do, she was, though, and icy of eye as shelooked at O'Rielly and Callahan still lolling on the bunk. Her voice was an iceberg exploding. At attention! Never in his right mind would any crewman dare fail to come stifflyerect the instant the Old Woman appeared. Behind her stood a colorfullyrobed specimen of Venus man. Handsome as the devil himself. Fit to snaplesser men in two with his highly bejeweled hands. Fuzzy beards trailedfrom his ears and kept twitching lazily as he sneered at the spectacleof two men meekly acknowledging the superiority of a woman. She was fit to put frost on a hydrogen burner. Mr. Callahan, I askedyou a question, did I not? Believe you did, ma'am, Callahan responded cheerfully. And theanswer is, ma'am, that Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly and me wasdiscussing—ah—matrimony, ma'am. Mr. Apprentice Burnerman O'Riellyhere is considering it, ma'am. Wasn't too bad a fib. The more O'Rielly thought of Trillium, the moreideas he got of doing things he'd never dreamt of before in his life.Yes, ma'am! Wasting your time talking nonsense! Old Woman's look was fit tofreeze O'Rielly's brain, then she gave Callahan the look. I sent youdown here to find the answer to that fusion control slippage! Oh, you'll have the best answer you ever heard of before long, ma'am!Callahan assured her heartily. The subject of nonsense—I mean,women—merely chanced to arise whilst we was scientifically analyzingthe control phenomenon, ma'am. Naturally I offered this innocent youngBurnerman the benefit of me long years of experience. Why, Callahansaid with a jaunty laugh, dames mean nothing to me. Indeed 'twouldn'tbother me none if there wasn't one of the things left in the world!Present company excepted, of course, Callahan hastened to say with acourtly bow. Stay at attention! Old Woman sniffed the air near Callahan's face,then in O'Rielly's vicinity. Smothered it with chlorophyll probably,she muttered through her teeth, if it is that vino. Somethinghorrible as a plague flickered in her eyes, then the old ice was thereagain. Apprentice Burnerman, don't you know what your shower is for?Then use it! Mr. Callahan, remain at attention while I inspect thisburner! She tendered a cool glance at the Venus bigwig. Care to joinme, Your Excellency? May as well. His Excellency glanced at O'Rielly and Callahan much ashe might at a couple of worms. Could bet your last old sox no femaleever told any Venus man what to do. The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than twosteps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possiblyblowing her gaskets completely, O'Rielly simply stepped in, shut thedoor, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansedof person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and HisExcellency were already coming out of the burner room, dripping withsweat. Old Woman opened the shower with her customary commanding air. Youfirst, Your Excellency. My dear Captain, His Excellency replied like a smoothly drawn dagger,always the lesser gender enjoys precedence. No Earth dame ever admitted any guy was even equal to any female. OldWoman, a prime symbol of her gender's superiority, whipped a razor edgeonto her own words. Facilities of the Captain's quarters are moresatisfactory. No more so than those of the Ambassadorial Suite. <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy. Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever. A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse. Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium! Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you? Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could. There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet. Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this! May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight! May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war! Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along! O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life. Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up. Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency. Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant. Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting. Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts. Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries. The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody. The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense? Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance. Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now! The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS. So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen. By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly. An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there! Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful. Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth! Very well. Grandmamma told me how. <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience. Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power. Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history. Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory! Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience. Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials. The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta? I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew. Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest. The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations. Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose. What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary. You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go? Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess. O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma? Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all. I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.' Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not. But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever. Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears. So what? Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story.

The story takes place on a spaceship that shuttles between Earth and Venus. The ship is commanded by Captain Hatwoody, a stern woman who represents the matriarchy that has taken over Earth. The majority of the story’s narrative happens in Apprentice Burnerman O’Rielly’s watch room. This is a simple room equipped with a bunk bed and bathing facilities, which includes a shower. From this room, he is able to maintain careful stewardship of Burner Four, which helps power the ship. When Callahan notifies O’Rielly that one of his controls has slipped, O’Rielly investigates the burner to find the culprit of the situation. After he discovers Trillium, she uses his bathing facilities to wash herself of the stink from the burner room where she was stowing away. After Callahan enters the watch room and learns of Trillium’s presence, he encourages her to hide again because of Captain Hatwoody’s impending visit. She hides beneath O’Rielly’s bunk. After Captain Hatwoody and her guest, Ambassador Dimdooly, stumble upon Trillium, the captain demands that they all follow her to her office. In her office, she convenes a conference with the presidents of Earth and Venus. After Berta—Trillium’s grandmother, the wife of the current Venusian president, and Callahan’s former love interest—reveals herself as the new ruler of Venus, O’Rielly and Callahan are given a five-minute break and sent back to their former duties managing the burners below.

What is the relationship between Callahan and Berta throughout the story? [SEP] <s> IMAGE OF SPLENDOR By LU KELLA From Venus to Earth, and all the way between, it was a hell of a world for men ... and Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly particularly. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The intercom roared fit to blow O'Rielly back to Venus. Burner Four! On my way, sir! At the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice BurnermanO'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head; he was alreadythrowing open the lock to the burner room. The hot, throbbing rumblewhipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power ofthe universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given onechance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. Thethrobbing rumble changed tone. Old Callahan's voice crackled now through the helmet's ear contact.Well, Mr. O'Rielly? Fusion control two points low, sir. O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the oldBurner Chief demanded hoarsely, Didn't you lock them controls beforeblast-off? If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting, O'Riellyanswered from his own angry bewilderment, the error would haveregistered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir? So a control reset itself in flight, hey? I don't know yet, sir. Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth! The icy knot in O'Rielly's stomach jerked tighter. A dozen burners onthis ship; why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In ahundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Riellyin pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But onehad moved here. Not enough to cause serious trouble this far out fromEarth. On blast-down, though, with one jet below peak, the uneventhrust could throw the ship, crash it, the whole lovely thing and allaboard gone in a churning cloud. Sweat pouring off him, O'Rielly prowled around his burner. Design ofthe thing had been bossed by dames of course; what on Earth wasn't anymore? Anyway, nobody could get to a burner except through its watchroom. Anyone entered or left there, a bell clanged, lights flashedand a meter registered beside the Burnerman's bunk and on the BurnerChief's console up in the flight room full of beautifully efficientofficers. Ever since Venus blast-off O'Rielly had been in Four's watchroom. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it.By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probablyinquired what was in charge of Burner Four. Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailedmouse of Venus could have stowed away. His first flight, and O'Riellysaw himself washed out, busted to sweeper on the blast-off stands ofsome God-forsaken satellite. He staggered back into his watch room. Andhis brain was suddenly taken apart and slapped together again. Feltthat way. She was sitting on his bunk. No three-tailed mouse. No Old Womaneither. Oh, she was a female human, though, this creature at whichO'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am! I was in your burner room. Her voice matched the rest of her, a blendof loveliness unlike anything outside a guy's most secret dreams. Icouldn't stand the heat any longer and I couldn't open that big door.So I moved one of your controls a tiny bit. All the noise in there,naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turnedresetting the control. <doc-sep>O'Rielly suddenly felt like turning her over his knee and whaling heruntil she couldn't sit for a year. This, mind you, he felt in an agewhere no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as abreath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male charactertrait, however, did not seem to be the overpowering reason whyO'Rielly, instead of laying violent hands upon this one's person, heardhimself saying in sympathetic outrage, A shame you had to go to allthat bother to get out here! You're so kind. But I'm afraid I became rather sticky and smelly inthere. They ought to cool the air in there with perfume! I'll drop asuggestion in the Old Woman's box first chance I get. You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities? That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you! You're so sweet. Her big dark eyes glowed with such pure innocencethat O'Rielly could have torn down the universe and rebuilt it just forher. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly was floating on a pink cloud with heavenly musicin his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layoverwhen he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads whohad a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money. A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lightsflashed wildly. Only the watch room door. Only Callahan here now. Oldbuzzard had a drooped nose like a pick, chin like a shovel. When he talked he was like digging a hole in front of himself. Well,what about that control? What control? Your fusion control that got itself two points low! Oh, that little thing. Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Riellysharply. Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again?Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyllagain probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner. Charmed to, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly said while bowinggracefully. Higher than a swacked skunk's tail again, Callahan muttered, thensnapped back over his shoulder, Use your shower! O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted thatBurner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's,would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now.Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary.Oh, very quite! You rockhead! Only Callahan back from the burner. Didn't I tell youto shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwigon tour the ship. Old Woman catches you like you been rassling skunksshe'll peel both our hides off. Not to mention what she'll do anywayabout your fusion control! Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded courteously, I havebeen thinking. With what? Never mind, just keep on trying whilst I have a shower formyself here. Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's showerdoor. Venus dames, O'Rielly said dreamily, don't boss anything, do they? Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant.O'Rielly! You trying to get both of us condemned to a Uranus moon?Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFFposition; the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could nothave overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like thedevil was behind him with the fork ready. O'Rielly, open your big earswhilst for your own good and mine I speak of certain matters. Thousand years ago, it was, the first flight reached Venus. Guysgot one look at them dames. Had to bring some home or bust. So theneverybody on Earth got a look, mostly by TV only of course. That didit. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give upthe shirt off his back, last buck in the bank, his own Earth dame orfamily—everything. Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild catswith knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venusdames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small topick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus onesback where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot onEarth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with anelectron microscope. <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal. No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices. Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame. Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints! Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he? So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run. Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum. Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em. Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys. With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much? Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman? Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully. Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast! Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever. O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta! Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago. <doc-sep>Hah? What? Callahan blinked like his brain had been taken apart andwas being slapped together again. O'Rielly! Awp, you angel-facedpirate, couldn't you hide her somewheres better than that? Shut up,you don't have to explain to me, but God help the whole universe if wedon't flimflam the Old Woman! With which ominous remark, rendered ina zesty devil-may-care manner, however, Callahan threw himself intoO'Rielly's shower. O'Rielly stood looking thoughtfully at lovely, womanly, exquisiteTrillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as aspiral nebula. My locker! he crowed with inspiration and yanked openthe doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the capand coverall uniform of a baggage boy. I threw them in there before you came on duty before blast-off,Trillium explained. I knew the burner room would be warm. Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through thisship. O'Rielly chortled as he tucked her under his bunk. Now don't youworry about another thing! Oh, I'm not, she assured him happily. Everything is going just theway Grandmamma knew it would! O'Rielly's shower opened and Callahan, glowing like a young bucko,bounced onto the bunk. Well, did you hide her good this time? No,don't tell me! I want to be surprised if the Old Woman ever finds her. If what old woman finds whom? a voice like thin ice crackling wantedto know. The watch room's door had opened. Wouldn't think the Old Woman was aday over seventy-five, let alone near two hundred. Cut of her uniformprobably lent a helping hand or three to the young snap of her figure.Frosty blue of fancy hair-do, she was, though, and icy of eye as shelooked at O'Rielly and Callahan still lolling on the bunk. Her voice was an iceberg exploding. At attention! Never in his right mind would any crewman dare fail to come stifflyerect the instant the Old Woman appeared. Behind her stood a colorfullyrobed specimen of Venus man. Handsome as the devil himself. Fit to snaplesser men in two with his highly bejeweled hands. Fuzzy beards trailedfrom his ears and kept twitching lazily as he sneered at the spectacleof two men meekly acknowledging the superiority of a woman. She was fit to put frost on a hydrogen burner. Mr. Callahan, I askedyou a question, did I not? Believe you did, ma'am, Callahan responded cheerfully. And theanswer is, ma'am, that Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly and me wasdiscussing—ah—matrimony, ma'am. Mr. Apprentice Burnerman O'Riellyhere is considering it, ma'am. Wasn't too bad a fib. The more O'Rielly thought of Trillium, the moreideas he got of doing things he'd never dreamt of before in his life.Yes, ma'am! Wasting your time talking nonsense! Old Woman's look was fit tofreeze O'Rielly's brain, then she gave Callahan the look. I sent youdown here to find the answer to that fusion control slippage! Oh, you'll have the best answer you ever heard of before long, ma'am!Callahan assured her heartily. The subject of nonsense—I mean,women—merely chanced to arise whilst we was scientifically analyzingthe control phenomenon, ma'am. Naturally I offered this innocent youngBurnerman the benefit of me long years of experience. Why, Callahansaid with a jaunty laugh, dames mean nothing to me. Indeed 'twouldn'tbother me none if there wasn't one of the things left in the world!Present company excepted, of course, Callahan hastened to say with acourtly bow. Stay at attention! Old Woman sniffed the air near Callahan's face,then in O'Rielly's vicinity. Smothered it with chlorophyll probably,she muttered through her teeth, if it is that vino. Somethinghorrible as a plague flickered in her eyes, then the old ice was thereagain. Apprentice Burnerman, don't you know what your shower is for?Then use it! Mr. Callahan, remain at attention while I inspect thisburner! She tendered a cool glance at the Venus bigwig. Care to joinme, Your Excellency? May as well. His Excellency glanced at O'Rielly and Callahan much ashe might at a couple of worms. Could bet your last old sox no femaleever told any Venus man what to do. The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than twosteps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possiblyblowing her gaskets completely, O'Rielly simply stepped in, shut thedoor, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansedof person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and HisExcellency were already coming out of the burner room, dripping withsweat. Old Woman opened the shower with her customary commanding air. Youfirst, Your Excellency. My dear Captain, His Excellency replied like a smoothly drawn dagger,always the lesser gender enjoys precedence. No Earth dame ever admitted any guy was even equal to any female. OldWoman, a prime symbol of her gender's superiority, whipped a razor edgeonto her own words. Facilities of the Captain's quarters are moresatisfactory. No more so than those of the Ambassadorial Suite. <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy. Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever. A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse. Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium! Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you? Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could. There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet. Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this! May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight! May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war! Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along! O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life. Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up. Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency. Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant. Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting. Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts. Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries. The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody. The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense? Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance. Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now! The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS. So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen. By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly. An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there! Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful. Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth! Very well. Grandmamma told me how. <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience. Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power. Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history. Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory! Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience. Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials. The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta? I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew. Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest. The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations. Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose. What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary. You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go? Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess. O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma? Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all. I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.' Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not. But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever. Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears. So what? Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship between Callahan and Berta throughout the story?

Callahan is Burner Chief on the ship and has been flying as a professional Burnerman for 125 years. Berta is the first lady of Venus, and the grandmother of Trillium. When O’Rielly is trying to hide Trillium in his shower, Callahan tells the story of when women first took control of Earth: They were not pleased that Earth men were so entranced by Venusian women, and so they took over leadership of the planet and sent all Venusian women back to their own planet. Likewise, Venusian men banned Earth men from interacting with Venusian women under threat of war. This led to an agreement where Earth and Venus could conduct trade together for cheaper prices. Callahan suggests that he was the last man to touch a Venusian woman, and he did so by hiding himself inside a large bag and sneaking through customs disguised as a Venusian man with a long, fake beard. The woman he was sneaking in to see turned out to be Berta, and Callahan says she ultimately rejected him because she could tell his beard was fake, and Venusian women loved to be tickled by real beards.

What was Trillium’s plan as a stowaway on the ship? [SEP] <s> IMAGE OF SPLENDOR By LU KELLA From Venus to Earth, and all the way between, it was a hell of a world for men ... and Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly particularly. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The intercom roared fit to blow O'Rielly back to Venus. Burner Four! On my way, sir! At the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice BurnermanO'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head; he was alreadythrowing open the lock to the burner room. The hot, throbbing rumblewhipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power ofthe universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given onechance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. Thethrobbing rumble changed tone. Old Callahan's voice crackled now through the helmet's ear contact.Well, Mr. O'Rielly? Fusion control two points low, sir. O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the oldBurner Chief demanded hoarsely, Didn't you lock them controls beforeblast-off? If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting, O'Riellyanswered from his own angry bewilderment, the error would haveregistered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir? So a control reset itself in flight, hey? I don't know yet, sir. Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth! The icy knot in O'Rielly's stomach jerked tighter. A dozen burners onthis ship; why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In ahundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Riellyin pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But onehad moved here. Not enough to cause serious trouble this far out fromEarth. On blast-down, though, with one jet below peak, the uneventhrust could throw the ship, crash it, the whole lovely thing and allaboard gone in a churning cloud. Sweat pouring off him, O'Rielly prowled around his burner. Design ofthe thing had been bossed by dames of course; what on Earth wasn't anymore? Anyway, nobody could get to a burner except through its watchroom. Anyone entered or left there, a bell clanged, lights flashedand a meter registered beside the Burnerman's bunk and on the BurnerChief's console up in the flight room full of beautifully efficientofficers. Ever since Venus blast-off O'Rielly had been in Four's watchroom. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it.By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probablyinquired what was in charge of Burner Four. Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailedmouse of Venus could have stowed away. His first flight, and O'Riellysaw himself washed out, busted to sweeper on the blast-off stands ofsome God-forsaken satellite. He staggered back into his watch room. Andhis brain was suddenly taken apart and slapped together again. Feltthat way. She was sitting on his bunk. No three-tailed mouse. No Old Womaneither. Oh, she was a female human, though, this creature at whichO'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am! I was in your burner room. Her voice matched the rest of her, a blendof loveliness unlike anything outside a guy's most secret dreams. Icouldn't stand the heat any longer and I couldn't open that big door.So I moved one of your controls a tiny bit. All the noise in there,naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turnedresetting the control. <doc-sep>O'Rielly suddenly felt like turning her over his knee and whaling heruntil she couldn't sit for a year. This, mind you, he felt in an agewhere no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as abreath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male charactertrait, however, did not seem to be the overpowering reason whyO'Rielly, instead of laying violent hands upon this one's person, heardhimself saying in sympathetic outrage, A shame you had to go to allthat bother to get out here! You're so kind. But I'm afraid I became rather sticky and smelly inthere. They ought to cool the air in there with perfume! I'll drop asuggestion in the Old Woman's box first chance I get. You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities? That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you! You're so sweet. Her big dark eyes glowed with such pure innocencethat O'Rielly could have torn down the universe and rebuilt it just forher. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly was floating on a pink cloud with heavenly musicin his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layoverwhen he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads whohad a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money. A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lightsflashed wildly. Only the watch room door. Only Callahan here now. Oldbuzzard had a drooped nose like a pick, chin like a shovel. When he talked he was like digging a hole in front of himself. Well,what about that control? What control? Your fusion control that got itself two points low! Oh, that little thing. Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Riellysharply. Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again?Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyllagain probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner. Charmed to, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly said while bowinggracefully. Higher than a swacked skunk's tail again, Callahan muttered, thensnapped back over his shoulder, Use your shower! O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted thatBurner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's,would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now.Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary.Oh, very quite! You rockhead! Only Callahan back from the burner. Didn't I tell youto shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwigon tour the ship. Old Woman catches you like you been rassling skunksshe'll peel both our hides off. Not to mention what she'll do anywayabout your fusion control! Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded courteously, I havebeen thinking. With what? Never mind, just keep on trying whilst I have a shower formyself here. Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's showerdoor. Venus dames, O'Rielly said dreamily, don't boss anything, do they? Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant.O'Rielly! You trying to get both of us condemned to a Uranus moon?Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFFposition; the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could nothave overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like thedevil was behind him with the fork ready. O'Rielly, open your big earswhilst for your own good and mine I speak of certain matters. Thousand years ago, it was, the first flight reached Venus. Guysgot one look at them dames. Had to bring some home or bust. So theneverybody on Earth got a look, mostly by TV only of course. That didit. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give upthe shirt off his back, last buck in the bank, his own Earth dame orfamily—everything. Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild catswith knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venusdames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small topick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus onesback where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot onEarth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with anelectron microscope. <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal. No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices. Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame. Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints! Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he? So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run. Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum. Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em. Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys. With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much? Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman? Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully. Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast! Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever. O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta! Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago. <doc-sep>Hah? What? Callahan blinked like his brain had been taken apart andwas being slapped together again. O'Rielly! Awp, you angel-facedpirate, couldn't you hide her somewheres better than that? Shut up,you don't have to explain to me, but God help the whole universe if wedon't flimflam the Old Woman! With which ominous remark, rendered ina zesty devil-may-care manner, however, Callahan threw himself intoO'Rielly's shower. O'Rielly stood looking thoughtfully at lovely, womanly, exquisiteTrillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as aspiral nebula. My locker! he crowed with inspiration and yanked openthe doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the capand coverall uniform of a baggage boy. I threw them in there before you came on duty before blast-off,Trillium explained. I knew the burner room would be warm. Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through thisship. O'Rielly chortled as he tucked her under his bunk. Now don't youworry about another thing! Oh, I'm not, she assured him happily. Everything is going just theway Grandmamma knew it would! O'Rielly's shower opened and Callahan, glowing like a young bucko,bounced onto the bunk. Well, did you hide her good this time? No,don't tell me! I want to be surprised if the Old Woman ever finds her. If what old woman finds whom? a voice like thin ice crackling wantedto know. The watch room's door had opened. Wouldn't think the Old Woman was aday over seventy-five, let alone near two hundred. Cut of her uniformprobably lent a helping hand or three to the young snap of her figure.Frosty blue of fancy hair-do, she was, though, and icy of eye as shelooked at O'Rielly and Callahan still lolling on the bunk. Her voice was an iceberg exploding. At attention! Never in his right mind would any crewman dare fail to come stifflyerect the instant the Old Woman appeared. Behind her stood a colorfullyrobed specimen of Venus man. Handsome as the devil himself. Fit to snaplesser men in two with his highly bejeweled hands. Fuzzy beards trailedfrom his ears and kept twitching lazily as he sneered at the spectacleof two men meekly acknowledging the superiority of a woman. She was fit to put frost on a hydrogen burner. Mr. Callahan, I askedyou a question, did I not? Believe you did, ma'am, Callahan responded cheerfully. And theanswer is, ma'am, that Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly and me wasdiscussing—ah—matrimony, ma'am. Mr. Apprentice Burnerman O'Riellyhere is considering it, ma'am. Wasn't too bad a fib. The more O'Rielly thought of Trillium, the moreideas he got of doing things he'd never dreamt of before in his life.Yes, ma'am! Wasting your time talking nonsense! Old Woman's look was fit tofreeze O'Rielly's brain, then she gave Callahan the look. I sent youdown here to find the answer to that fusion control slippage! Oh, you'll have the best answer you ever heard of before long, ma'am!Callahan assured her heartily. The subject of nonsense—I mean,women—merely chanced to arise whilst we was scientifically analyzingthe control phenomenon, ma'am. Naturally I offered this innocent youngBurnerman the benefit of me long years of experience. Why, Callahansaid with a jaunty laugh, dames mean nothing to me. Indeed 'twouldn'tbother me none if there wasn't one of the things left in the world!Present company excepted, of course, Callahan hastened to say with acourtly bow. Stay at attention! Old Woman sniffed the air near Callahan's face,then in O'Rielly's vicinity. Smothered it with chlorophyll probably,she muttered through her teeth, if it is that vino. Somethinghorrible as a plague flickered in her eyes, then the old ice was thereagain. Apprentice Burnerman, don't you know what your shower is for?Then use it! Mr. Callahan, remain at attention while I inspect thisburner! She tendered a cool glance at the Venus bigwig. Care to joinme, Your Excellency? May as well. His Excellency glanced at O'Rielly and Callahan much ashe might at a couple of worms. Could bet your last old sox no femaleever told any Venus man what to do. The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than twosteps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possiblyblowing her gaskets completely, O'Rielly simply stepped in, shut thedoor, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansedof person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and HisExcellency were already coming out of the burner room, dripping withsweat. Old Woman opened the shower with her customary commanding air. Youfirst, Your Excellency. My dear Captain, His Excellency replied like a smoothly drawn dagger,always the lesser gender enjoys precedence. No Earth dame ever admitted any guy was even equal to any female. OldWoman, a prime symbol of her gender's superiority, whipped a razor edgeonto her own words. Facilities of the Captain's quarters are moresatisfactory. No more so than those of the Ambassadorial Suite. <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy. Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever. A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse. Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium! Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you? Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could. There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet. Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this! May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight! May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war! Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along! O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life. Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up. Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency. Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant. Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting. Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts. Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries. The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody. The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense? Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance. Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now! The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS. So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen. By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly. An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there! Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful. Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth! Very well. Grandmamma told me how. <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience. Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power. Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history. Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory! Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience. Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials. The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta? I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew. Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest. The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations. Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose. What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary. You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go? Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess. O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma? Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all. I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.' Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not. But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever. Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears. So what? Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was Trillium’s plan as a stowaway on the ship?

Trillium is the granddaughter of the President of Venus and his wife, Berta. One-hundred twenty-five years ago, Berta learned from Callahan’s example how to stowaway and break the rules devised between the two planets. She taught her granddaughter how to do the same, so Trillium took this knowledge to implement her own plan. Trillium represents the women of Venus, who are tired of the lack of attention they receive from Venusian men; the men are far more interested in war and harbor misogynistic attitudes towards women. Likewise, the women rulers of Earth treat men as their inferiors as a result of their lust for Venusian women. When Trillium is discovered, this triggers a meeting between the two presidents of Earth and Venus, and the president of Earth announces that her presence on the ship signifies a breach in their rules. Therefore, the special arrangement between the two planets is ended, and Earth no longer recognizes Dimdooly’s ambassadorship. As the Venusian president resists, he also learns that his wife Berta has been elected the new President of Venus, and that women will now take over just as they did on Earth. She orders her husband to be taken away. After Dimdooly loses his position, he announces his love for Trillium, which confirms her plan to regain the amorous attentions of Venusian men has worked. As a reward for her role in the revolution, Trillium receives Dimdooly’s ambassadorship.

What is the relationship between Captain Hatwoody and Ambassador Dimdooly throughout the story? [SEP] <s> IMAGE OF SPLENDOR By LU KELLA From Venus to Earth, and all the way between, it was a hell of a world for men ... and Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly particularly. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The intercom roared fit to blow O'Rielly back to Venus. Burner Four! On my way, sir! At the first flash of red on the bank of meters Apprentice BurnermanO'Rielly had slammed the safety helmet on his head; he was alreadythrowing open the lock to the burner room. The hot, throbbing rumblewhipped around him and near crushed his breath away. Power! Power ofthe universe trapped here and ready to destroy its captors given onechance! Swiftly O'Rielly unlocked the controls and reset them. Thethrobbing rumble changed tone. Old Callahan's voice crackled now through the helmet's ear contact.Well, Mr. O'Rielly? Fusion control two points low, sir. O'Rielly wondered had Callahan passed out, was so long before the oldBurner Chief demanded hoarsely, Didn't you lock them controls beforeblast-off? If every control hadn't been locked in correct setting, O'Riellyanswered from his own angry bewilderment, the error would haveregistered before blast-off—wouldn't it, sir? So a control reset itself in flight, hey? I don't know yet, sir. Well, Mr. O'Rielly, you better know before we orbit Earth! The icy knot in O'Rielly's stomach jerked tighter. A dozen burners onthis ship; why did something crazy have to happen to O'Rielly's? In ahundred years, so the instructors—brisk females all—had told O'Riellyin pre-flight school, no control had ever been known to slip. But onehad moved here. Not enough to cause serious trouble this far out fromEarth. On blast-down, though, with one jet below peak, the uneventhrust could throw the ship, crash it, the whole lovely thing and allaboard gone in a churning cloud. Sweat pouring off him, O'Rielly prowled around his burner. Design ofthe thing had been bossed by dames of course; what on Earth wasn't anymore? Anyway, nobody could get to a burner except through its watchroom. Anyone entered or left there, a bell clanged, lights flashedand a meter registered beside the Burnerman's bunk and on the BurnerChief's console up in the flight room full of beautifully efficientofficers. Ever since Venus blast-off O'Rielly had been in Four's watchroom. Nobody had passed through. O'Rielly knew it. Callahan knew it.By now the Old Woman herself, Captain Millicent Hatwoody, had probablyinquired what was in charge of Burner Four. Well, ma'am, O'Rielly searched every cranny where even a three-tailedmouse of Venus could have stowed away. His first flight, and O'Riellysaw himself washed out, busted to sweeper on the blast-off stands ofsome God-forsaken satellite. He staggered back into his watch room. Andhis brain was suddenly taken apart and slapped together again. Feltthat way. She was sitting on his bunk. No three-tailed mouse. No Old Womaneither. Oh, she was a female human, though, this creature at whichO'Rielly stood gaping. Yes, ma'am! I was in your burner room. Her voice matched the rest of her, a blendof loveliness unlike anything outside a guy's most secret dreams. Icouldn't stand the heat any longer and I couldn't open that big door.So I moved one of your controls a tiny bit. All the noise in there,naturally you couldn't hear me walk out while your back was turnedresetting the control. <doc-sep>O'Rielly suddenly felt like turning her over his knee and whaling heruntil she couldn't sit for a year. This, mind you, he felt in an agewhere no Earth guy for a thousand years had dared raise so much as abreath against woman's supremacy in all matters. That male charactertrait, however, did not seem to be the overpowering reason whyO'Rielly, instead of laying violent hands upon this one's person, heardhimself saying in sympathetic outrage, A shame you had to go to allthat bother to get out here! You're so kind. But I'm afraid I became rather sticky and smelly inthere. They ought to cool the air in there with perfume! I'll drop asuggestion in the Old Woman's box first chance I get. You're so thoughtful. And do you have bathing facilities? That door right there. Oh, let me open it for you! You're so sweet. Her big dark eyes glowed with such pure innocencethat O'Rielly could have torn down the universe and rebuilt it just forher. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly was floating on a pink cloud with heavenly musicin his head. Never felt so fine before. Except on the Venus layoverwhen he'd been roped into a dice game with a bunch of Venus lads whohad a jug to cheer one's parting with one's money. A bell suddenly clanged fit to wake the dead while the overhead lightsflashed wildly. Only the watch room door. Only Callahan here now. Oldbuzzard had a drooped nose like a pick, chin like a shovel. When he talked he was like digging a hole in front of himself. Well,what about that control? What control? Your fusion control that got itself two points low! Oh, that little thing. Callahan said something through his teeth, then studied O'Riellysharply. Hey, you been wetting your whistle on that Venus vino again?Lemme smell your breath! Bah. Loaded yourself full of chlorophyllagain probably. All right, stand aside whilst I see your burner. Charmed to, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly said while bowinggracefully. Higher than a swacked skunk's tail again, Callahan muttered, thensnapped back over his shoulder, Use your shower! O'Rielly stood considering his shower door. Somehow he doubted thatBurner Chief Terrence Callahan's mood, or Captain Millicent Hatwoody's,would be improved by knowledge of she who was in O'Rielly's shower now.Not that the dear stowaway was less than charming. Quite the contrary.Oh, very quite! You rockhead! Only Callahan back from the burner. Didn't I tell youto shower the stink off yourself? Old Woman's taking a Venus bigwigon tour the ship. Old Woman catches you like you been rassling skunksshe'll peel both our hides off. Not to mention what she'll do anywayabout your fusion control! Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded courteously, I havebeen thinking. With what? Never mind, just keep on trying whilst I have a shower formyself here. Wherewith Callahan reached hand for O'Rielly's showerdoor. Venus dames, O'Rielly said dreamily, don't boss anything, do they? Callahan yelped like he'd been bit in the pants by a big Jupiter ant.O'Rielly! You trying to get both of us condemned to a Uranus moon?Callahan also shot a wild look to the intercom switch. It was in OFFposition; the flight room full of fancy gold-lace petticoats could nothave overheard from here. Nevertheless Callahan's eyes rolled like thedevil was behind him with the fork ready. O'Rielly, open your big earswhilst for your own good and mine I speak of certain matters. Thousand years ago, it was, the first flight reached Venus. Guysgot one look at them dames. Had to bring some home or bust. So theneverybody on Earth got a look, mostly by TV only of course. That didit. Every guy on Earth began blowing his fuse over them dames. Give upthe shirt off his back, last buck in the bank, his own Earth dame orfamily—everything. Well, that's when Earth dames took over like armies of wild catswith knots in their tails. Before the guys who'd brought the Venusdames to Earth could say anything they was taken apart too small topick up with a blotter. Earth dames wound up by flying the Venus onesback where they come from and serving notice if one ever set foot onEarth again there wouldn't be enough left of Venus to find with anelectron microscope. <doc-sep>Venus boys rared up and served notice that if Earth ever got any funnynotions, right away there wouldn't be enough Earth left to hide in anatom's eyebrow. Touchy as hornets on a hot griddle, them Venus guys.Crazier than bed bugs about war. Could smell a loose dollar a millionlight years away too. Finagled around until they finally cooked up adeal. No Venus dames allowed within fifty miles of their port. Earth guysstay inside the high-voltage fence. Any dame caught trying to leaveVenus thrown to the tigers for supper. Same for any Earth guy caughtaround a Venus dame. In return, Earth could buy practically everythingat bargain basement prices. Oh, I was shown the history films in pre-flight, O'Rielly said, stilldreamily. But not a peek of any Venus dame. Pray heaven you'll never lay eyes on one nor have one get within tenfoot of you! Even though you'd know she'd be your damnation wouldn'tmake a whit difference—you'd still act sappier than thirty-sevenangels flying on vino. Callahan suddenly stared at O'Rielly. Holyhollering saints! Now, now, Burner Chief Callahan, sir, O'Rielly responded with an airylaugh. No Earth guy for a hundred twenty-five years been near one andlived to tell it, has he? So the whispers run, Callahan murmured with a queer flame dancinginto his eyes. So the old whispers still run. Never a name, though. Never how it was done. O'Rielly snorted.Probably just a goofy tale set loose by some old space bum. Oh? Callahan bristled up like a bad name had been bandied about.Seen them ditty bags Venus bigwigs have, ain't you? Some big enough tostuff a cow in. Notice how nobody ever dares question a bigwig's bags,even through customs? Just run 'em through the big Geiger that tellswhether there's any fusionable junk inside. Well, our boy got himselfone of them bags, stuffed himself inside and joined a bigwig's pile of'em. Didn't pull it whilst on the Venus port during a layover either, whena crew check would of turned him up missing. Pulled it on vacation.Started on the Earth end. Made himself a pair of beards to paste on hisears of course. Wove Jupiter wiggle worms in to keep the beards moving.Wasn't like the real thing, but good enough to flimflam Venus guys. With suddenly enlivened interest O'Rielly looked at Callahan. Hey, howcome you know so much? Hah? What? Callahan blinked like waking from a trance; even groanedto himself, something that sounded like, Blabbering like I'd hada nip myself—or one of them dillies was radiating nearby. ThenCallahan glared fit to drill holes in O'Rielly's head. Look! I wasa full Burnerman before you was born. Been flying the spaces hundredtwenty-five years now. Had more chances to hear more—just hear more,you hear! Only tried to clear your mind about Venus dames so you couldput your brain on your control mess. So now put it! If you ain't highon vino and ain't been made nuts by a Venus dame, what answer do wefeed the Old Woman? Search me, Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly responded cheerfully. Of all the loony apprentices I ever had to answer the Old Woman for!Awp, lemme out where I can think of something to save me own neck atleast! Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from rolling on the deck with glee.Old Callahan had been flimflammed for fair! The dear little stowawaywas saved! And O'Rielly would now think of grand ways to save herlovely neck and his own forever. O'Rielly's shower door, however, opened abruptly. O'Rielly had notopened it. O'Rielly, however, suffered a cruel stab of dismay. Surelyhis dear stowaway had been listening through the door. Why didn't shehave brains enough to stay hid until Callahan was gone! At sight of her, of course, Callahan's eyes near popped from his oldhead. Berta! Oh, I'm Trillium, she assured Callahan sweetly. But Grandmamma'sname is Berta and people say I'm just like she was a hundred andtwenty-five years ago. <doc-sep>Hah? What? Callahan blinked like his brain had been taken apart andwas being slapped together again. O'Rielly! Awp, you angel-facedpirate, couldn't you hide her somewheres better than that? Shut up,you don't have to explain to me, but God help the whole universe if wedon't flimflam the Old Woman! With which ominous remark, rendered ina zesty devil-may-care manner, however, Callahan threw himself intoO'Rielly's shower. O'Rielly stood looking thoughtfully at lovely, womanly, exquisiteTrillium. Just like that, O'Rielly felt as sparkling of mind as aspiral nebula. My locker! he crowed with inspiration and yanked openthe doors under his bunk. He glimpsed a black ditty bag, also the capand coverall uniform of a baggage boy. I threw them in there before you came on duty before blast-off,Trillium explained. I knew the burner room would be warm. Trillium—with her shape—passing as a boy hustling bags through thisship. O'Rielly chortled as he tucked her under his bunk. Now don't youworry about another thing! Oh, I'm not, she assured him happily. Everything is going just theway Grandmamma knew it would! O'Rielly's shower opened and Callahan, glowing like a young bucko,bounced onto the bunk. Well, did you hide her good this time? No,don't tell me! I want to be surprised if the Old Woman ever finds her. If what old woman finds whom? a voice like thin ice crackling wantedto know. The watch room's door had opened. Wouldn't think the Old Woman was aday over seventy-five, let alone near two hundred. Cut of her uniformprobably lent a helping hand or three to the young snap of her figure.Frosty blue of fancy hair-do, she was, though, and icy of eye as shelooked at O'Rielly and Callahan still lolling on the bunk. Her voice was an iceberg exploding. At attention! Never in his right mind would any crewman dare fail to come stifflyerect the instant the Old Woman appeared. Behind her stood a colorfullyrobed specimen of Venus man. Handsome as the devil himself. Fit to snaplesser men in two with his highly bejeweled hands. Fuzzy beards trailedfrom his ears and kept twitching lazily as he sneered at the spectacleof two men meekly acknowledging the superiority of a woman. She was fit to put frost on a hydrogen burner. Mr. Callahan, I askedyou a question, did I not? Believe you did, ma'am, Callahan responded cheerfully. And theanswer is, ma'am, that Apprentice Burnerman O'Rielly and me wasdiscussing—ah—matrimony, ma'am. Mr. Apprentice Burnerman O'Riellyhere is considering it, ma'am. Wasn't too bad a fib. The more O'Rielly thought of Trillium, the moreideas he got of doing things he'd never dreamt of before in his life.Yes, ma'am! Wasting your time talking nonsense! Old Woman's look was fit tofreeze O'Rielly's brain, then she gave Callahan the look. I sent youdown here to find the answer to that fusion control slippage! Oh, you'll have the best answer you ever heard of before long, ma'am!Callahan assured her heartily. The subject of nonsense—I mean,women—merely chanced to arise whilst we was scientifically analyzingthe control phenomenon, ma'am. Naturally I offered this innocent youngBurnerman the benefit of me long years of experience. Why, Callahansaid with a jaunty laugh, dames mean nothing to me. Indeed 'twouldn'tbother me none if there wasn't one of the things left in the world!Present company excepted, of course, Callahan hastened to say with acourtly bow. Stay at attention! Old Woman sniffed the air near Callahan's face,then in O'Rielly's vicinity. Smothered it with chlorophyll probably,she muttered through her teeth, if it is that vino. Somethinghorrible as a plague flickered in her eyes, then the old ice was thereagain. Apprentice Burnerman, don't you know what your shower is for?Then use it! Mr. Callahan, remain at attention while I inspect thisburner! She tendered a cool glance at the Venus bigwig. Care to joinme, Your Excellency? May as well. His Excellency glanced at O'Rielly and Callahan much ashe might at a couple of worms. Could bet your last old sox no femaleever told any Venus man what to do. The shower units were equipped so no Burnerman need be more than twosteps from his responsibility. To keep the Old Woman from possiblyblowing her gaskets completely, O'Rielly simply stepped in, shut thedoor, flipped a switch and tingled as he was electronically cleansedof person and clothes. By time he finished, the Old Woman and HisExcellency were already coming out of the burner room, dripping withsweat. Old Woman opened the shower with her customary commanding air. Youfirst, Your Excellency. My dear Captain, His Excellency replied like a smoothly drawn dagger,always the lesser gender enjoys precedence. No Earth dame ever admitted any guy was even equal to any female. OldWoman, a prime symbol of her gender's superiority, whipped a razor edgeonto her own words. Facilities of the Captain's quarters are moresatisfactory. No more so than those of the Ambassadorial Suite. <doc-sep>Seeming to grind her teeth, the Old O Woman turned abruptly to leaveO'Rielly's watch room. Was all O'Rielly could do to keep from bustingout laughing for joy. Old Woman had been flimflammed for fair! Dear Trillium was saved! Andbetwixt O'Rielly's grand brain and Callahan's great experience she'd behappy forever. A fine loud thump, however, was now heard. Old Woman whirled back andyanked open the doors under O'Rielly's bunk. Of all the sappy hiding places! Callahan yelped, in surprise ofcourse. Trillium? His Excellency bellowed as if stung by one of thesabre-tailed hornets of his native planet. Trillium! Trillium, O'Rielly pleaded in loving anguish, why do you have tokeep coming out of hiding just when nobody's going to find you? Her eyes merely became deep pools in which O'Rielly would have gladlydrowned himself if he could. There are rewards, the Old Woman said with the deadly coldness ofouter space, for Earthmen found in a Venus woman's company, and forher leaving her planet. Shut up! His Excellency's ear beards were standing straight outsideways. I'll handle this! May I remind His Excellency, the Old Woman snapped, that I representEarth and her dominion of space gained by right of original flight! May I remind the Captain, His Excellency declared fit to be heardback to his planet, that I am the Personal Ambassador of the Presidentof Venus and this thing can mean war! Yes! War in which people will actually die! As His Excellency paledat that grisly remark, the Old Woman spoke through her teeth atO'Rielly, Callahan and Trillium. All right, come along! O'Rielly joined the death march gladly. He felt the way Callahanlooked: ready to wrap his arms around Trillium's brave loveliness andprotect it to his last breath of life. Old Woman led the way to her office. Jabbed some buttons on her desk.Panels on opposite walls lit up. Presidents of Earth and Venus, please, the Old Woman stated evenly.Interplanetary emergency. Highly groomed flunkies appeared on the panels and were impersonallypleasant. Madame President's office. She is in a Cabinet meeting. Mr. President's office. He is in personal command of our glorious warefforts. Old Woman sighed through her teeth. Venus woman aboard this ship.Stowaway. Rattle that around your belfries. The flunkies' faces went slack with shock, then were replaced by ablizzard of scrambled faces and torrents of incoherent voices. Finally on the Earth panel appeared the famous classic features. Thefacts, if you please, Captain Hatwoody. The Venus panel finally held steady on universally notorious features,that were as fierce as an eagle's, in a fancy war helmet. Trillium! Myown granddaughter? Impossible! Dimdooly, Mr. President roared at hisExcellency, what's this nonsense? Some loud creature is interfering, Madame President snapped withannoyance. Blasted fools still have the circuits crossed, Mr. President swore.Some silly female cackling now! The parties in the panels saw each other now. Each one's left hand on adesk moved toward a big red button marked, ROCKETS. So, Mr. President said evenly. Another violation by your Earthmen. By your granddaughter, at least, Madame President replied coolly. An innocent child, Mr. President snapped, obviously kidnapped bythose two idiotic Earthmen there! Oh, no, Grandpapa, Trillium said swiftly; I stole away all bymyself, and Mr. O'Rielly and Callahan have been very helpful. Impossible! Grandpapa President's ear beards stood near straight upas he roared, You couldn't have stolen away by yourself! Trillium,tell the truth! Very well. Grandmamma told me how. <doc-sep>Obviously Trillium's poor little brain has been drugged, HisExcellency Dimdooly declared. Grandmamma Berta wouldn't know the firstthing about such things! Impossible! Grandpapa President agreed. I've been married to herfor a hundred and twenty-four and a half years and she's the finestrattle-brain I ever knew! She learned, Trillium stated emphatically, a hundred and twenty-fiveyears ago. Hundred twenty-five, Grandpapa president growled like a boilingvolcano. The year some Earthman.... Never did catch the devil....Berta? Impossible! Madame President's shapely finger now rested full on the button thatcould launch the fleets of war rockets that had been pre-aimed for athousand years. I'm afraid your Ambassador is unwelcome now, MadamePresident stated coolly. Your granddaughter's actions have every markof an invasion tactic by your government. What do you mean, her actions? Grandpapa President's finger now laypoised on the button that had been waiting a thousand years to blowEarth out of the universe. My grandchild was kidnapped by men underyour official command! Weren't you, Trillium dear? No. One of us stowing away was the only way we Venus women could bringour cause to the attention of Earth's President. If Earth will onlystop buying from Venus, you won't have any money to squander on yourwars any longer no matter what happens to we revolutionaries! Revolutionaries? Such claptrap! And what's wrong with my wars? Peoplehave to have something to keep their minds off their troubles! Nobodyaround here gets hurt. Oh, maybe a few scratches here and there. Butnobody on Venus dies from the things any more. But Venus men are so excited all the time about going to war theyhaven't time for us women. That's why we always radiated such a fatalattraction for Earthmen. We want to be loved! We want our own men homedoing useful work! Well, they do come home and do useful work! Couple weeks every tenmonths. Proven to be a highly efficient arrangement. More boys to run off to your old wars and more girls to stay home andbe lonely! Now you just listen to me, Trillium! Grandpapa President was allVenus manhood laying down the law. That's the way things have been onVenus for ten thousand years and all the women in the universe can'tchange it! I have been in constant contact with my Cabinet during theseconversations, Madame President said crisply. Earth is terminatingall trade agreements with Venus as of this instant. What? Grandpapa's beards near pulled his ears off. It's not legal!You can't get away with this! Take your finger off that trigger, boy! a heavenly voice similar toTrillium's advised from the Venus panel. Whereupon Grandpapa glared to one side. Berta! What are you doinghere? I am deciding matters of the gravest interplanetary nature! Were. Features more beautifully mature than Trillium's crowded ontothe panel too. From now on I'm doing the deciding. Nonsense! You're only my wife! And new President of Venus, elected by unanimous vote of all women. Impossible! The men run Venus! Nobody's turning this planet intoanother Earth where a man can't even sneeze unless some woman says so! Take him away, girls, Berta ordered coolly, whereupon her spouse wasyanked from view. His bellows, however, could be heard yet. Unhand me, you foolcreatures! Guards! Guards! Save your breath, Berta advised him. And while you're in the cooler,enjoy this latest batch of surrender communiques. We women are incontrol everywhere now. Dimmy, Trillium was saying firmly to His Excellency, you have beataround the bush with me long enough. Now say it! <doc-sep>Dimdooly—the mighty, the lordly, who had sneered at the sight of mereEarthmen kowtowing to a mere woman—swelled up fit to blow his gaskets,then all the gas went out of him. His ear beards, however, still hadenough zip left to flutter like butterflies. Yes, Trillium dear. Ilove only you. Please marry me at your earliest convenience. Well, Grandmamma, Trillium said with a highly self-satisfied air, itworks. And just like you said, Earthmen meant nothing once I knew weVenus women had our own men in our power. Those crewmen there, Grandmamma President said, seem to be proofenough that we Venus women no longer radiate any threat to Earth'stranquility. Yes, ma'am, O'Rielly sure felt like proof of something all of a sudden.Worse than the hangover from that crap game with Venus vino. He lookedaway from Trillium and took a look at Callahan. Old guy looked awayfrom Grandmamma President like he was packing the second biggestheadache in history. Hmmmm, yes, Madame President of Earth observed. Reactions agreeperfectly with the psychoanalytical research project we have beenconducting on the subject of the Venus female influence. MadamePresident of Venus, congratulations on your victory! Long may the superior sex reign on Venus too! We shall be delighted toreceive an Ambassadoress to discuss a new trade treaty at your earliestconvenience. Thank you for cancelling the old trade agreements at the psychologicalmoment, Grandmamma President said cordially. What with thecommunications mixup, we managed to have the scenes on these panelsbroadcast throughout all Venus. When the rug went out from under thetop man, the tide really turned in our favor. Now, Trillium, you takeover Dimmy's credentials. The Ambassadorial Suite, too, Madame President of Earth saidgraciously. Anything else now, Berta? I should like, Grandmamma President Berta said charmingly, thatMr. O'Rielly and Mr. Callahan be suitably rewarded for assisting ourrevolution better than they knew. Of course, Madame President of Earth was delighted to oblige. Nodoubt Captain Hatwoody knows what reward would satisfy their needsbest. The Madame Presidents switched to a private circuit, Trillium draggedDimdooly off somewhere and the Old Woman eyed O'Rielly and Callahan.Especially she eyed Callahan, like running chilled drills through hisold conniving brain. I award the pair of you five minutes leisurebefore returning to your stations. Oh, well, O'Rielly muttered, once he and Callahan were safely beyondearshot, could have been rewarded worse, I suppose. What you expect for being flimflammed by a foreign dame, the rings ofSaturn? Lucky we ain't programmed to be hung, shot and thrown to thecrows for breakfast. Callahan's old pick-and-shovel face wore a littlegrin like the cat that nobody could prove ate the canary. You—I mean, that Earth guy a hundred twenty-five years ago, O'Riellysaid in sudden thought. If Venus dames wanted to be loved so bad, whydid Trillium's Grandmamma let him go? Venus guys wasn't so busy playing war all the time, Callahan mumbled,like to himself, they'd of found out the answer centuries ago. Yep,guess our boy was the only guy on Earth or Venus to find out and live.Dames bossing both planets now, though, his old secret won't be onemuch longer. Venus dames could of let it out centuries ago themselvesbut didn't, just to spite Earth probably. Later, was part of organizingto take over Venus, I guess. O'Rielly still had memories of the way he had felt about Trilliumbefore her revolution. All right, Callahan, why did 'our boy' leaveGrandmamma? Yes, ma'am, Callahan sighed like he hadn't heard a word O'Riellysaid, you could sweet-talk 'em, kiss 'em and hold 'em tighter'nBilly-be-damned. And that's all. I'm not sure, O'Rielly said, what you mean by, 'that's all.' Anybody ever seen anybody but a Venus guy come built with ear beards?Course not. But I thought our boy was wearing the best fakes ever. Ain't nothing can match the natural growed-on variety, no, ma'am.Venus guy kisses a Venus dame, his beards grabs her roundst the ears. So what? Tickles 'em, boy, tickles 'em! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship between Captain Hatwoody and Ambassador Dimdooly throughout the story?

Captain Hatwoody is the commander of the ship that ferries between Earth and Venus. She is a stern, efficient Earth woman with a vocal disdain for men. Behind her back, the men of her crew refer to her as “the Old Woman.” Ambassador Dimdooly is a Venusian who works as the right-hand man of the President of Venus. Similar to Hatwoody’s disgust for men, Ambassador Dimdooly harbors a deep-seated misogyny. Both characters’ innate sexism is reflected in the social orders of their individual planets and are the result of over one-hundred years of conflict. Captain Hatwoody plays gracious host to Ambassador Dimdooly when he visits the ship, even referring to him as “Excellency.” However, their tensions are revealed when together they inspect Burner Four after visiting O’Rielly in his watch room. They each make snarky comments to each other about the inferiority of the others’ respective gender. Their attitudes are reflected later during the confrontational meeting between the presidents of Earth and Venus in Captain Hatwoody’s office. These two characters’ interactions are essential in highlighting the gender conflict that explodes at the story’s end when both Earth and Venusian women solidify their rule over their respective planets.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> QUEST OF THIG By BASIL WELLS Thig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering HORDE. He had blasted across trackless space to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on Earth emotions that were more deadly than weapons. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beachover the metal lid of the flexible ringed tunnel that linked the grubbyship from another planet with the upper air. He looked out across theheaving waters of the Sound toward Connecticut. He stared appraisinglyaround at the luxuriant green growth of foliage further inland; andstarted toward the little stretch of trees and brush, walking carefullybecause of the lesser gravitation. Thig was shorter than the average Earthman—although on Ortha hewas well above the average in height—but his body was thick andpowerfully muscled. His skull was well-shaped and large; his featureswere regular, perhaps a trifle oversize, and his hair and eyes werea curiously matching blend of reddish brown. Oddest of all, he woreno garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support hisrod-like weapon of white metal and his pouches for food and specimens. The Orthan entered the narrow strip of trees and crossed to thelittle-used highway on the other side. Here he patiently sat down towait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was tobring a native, intact if possible, back to the carefully buried spacecruiser where his two fellows and himself would drain the creature'smentality of all its knowledge. In this way they could learn whether aplanet was suited for colonization by later swarms of Orthans. Already they had charted over a hundred celestial bodies but of themall only three had proven worthy of consideration. This latest planet,however, 72-P-3 on the chart, appeared to be an ideal world in everyrespect. Sunlight, plenty of water and a dense atmospheric envelopemade of 72-P-3 a paradise among planets. The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of aleafy shrub. A creature was approaching. Its squat body was coveredwith baggy strips of bluish cloth and it carried a jointed rod of metaland wood in its paw. It walked upright as did the men of Ortha. Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing'sstupid face. It was as though he was looking into a bit of polishedmetal at the reflection of himself! The Earthman was opposite now and he must waste no more precioustime. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across theintervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clampedacross the mouth and neck of the stranger.... <doc-sep>Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that hadground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigiddesolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he wasgoing stale. He had sat every day for eight hours in front of thatshiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feeblyhe had punched a key two days ago and a $ sign had appeared. He hadn'tdared touch the machine since. For Mr. Terry, that hard-hitting writer of two-gun action, had neverbeen further west of Long Island than Elizabeth, and he had promisedhis wife, Ellen, that he would take the three children and herself ona trailer tour of the West that very summer. Since that promise, hecould not write a word. Visions of whooping red-skinned Apaches andbe-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up outof his subconscious. Yet he had to write at least three novelets anda fistful of short stories in the next two weeks to finance the greatadventure—or the trip was off. So Lewis left the weathered old cottage in the early dawn and headedfor his tubby old boat at the landing in an attempt to work out asalable yarn.... Hey! he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside theroad. What's the trouble? Then he had no time for further speech, the massive arms of thestranger had wound around him and two hamlike hands shut off his speechand his wind. He fought futilely against trained muscles. The handclamping his throat relaxed for a moment and hacked along the side ofhis head. Blackness flooded the brain of Lewis, and he knew no more. <doc-sep>There it is, announced Thig, dropping the limp body of the capturedEarthman to the metal deck-plates. It is a male of the species thatmust have built the cities we saw as we landed. He resembles Thig, announced Kam. But for the strange covering hewears he might be Thig. Thig will be this creature! announced Torp. With a psychic relay wewill transfer the Earthman's memories and meager store of knowledge tothe brain of Thig! He can then go out and scout this world withoutarousing suspicion. While he is gone, I will take Kam and explore thetwo inner planets. You are the commander, said Thig. But I wish this beast did not wearthese clumsy sheathing upon his body. On Ortha we do not hamper the useof our limbs so. Do not question the word of your commander, growled Torp, swellingout his thick chest menacingly. It is for the good of our people thatyou disguise yourself as an Earthman. For the good of the Horde, Thig intoned almost piously as he liftedTerry's body and headed for the laboratory. Service for the Horde was all that the men of Ortha knew. Carefullycultured and brought to life in the laboratories of their Horde, theyknew neither father nor mother. Affection and love were entirelylacking in their early training and later life. They were trainedantlike from childhood that only the growth and power of the Hordewere of any moment. Men and women alike toiled and died like unfeelingrobots of flesh and bone for the Horde. The Horde was their religion,their love-life, their everything! So it was that the bodies of the Earthman and the Orthan were strappedon two parallel tables of chill metal and the twin helmets, linked toone another by the intricacies of the psychic relay, put upon theirheads. For ten hours or more the droning hum of the relay sucked Terry's braindry of knowledge. The shock upon the nervous system of the Earthmanproved too violent and his heart faltered after a time and stoppedcompletely. Twice, with subtle drugs they restored pseudo-life to hisbody and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his torturedbrain, but after the third suspension of life Thig removed his helmet. There is nothing more to learn, he informed his impassive comrades.Now, let us get on with the plastic surgery that is required. My newbody must return to its barbaric household before undue attention isaroused. And when I return I will take along some of the gleamingbaubles we found on the red planet—these people value them highly. An hour later, his scars and altered cartilage already healed andpainless, Thig again scraped sand over the entrance to the space shipand set out along the moonlit beach toward the nearest path runninginland to his home. Memory was laying the country bare about him, Terry's own childhoodmemories of this particular section of Long Island. Here was the placewhere Jake and Ted had helped him dig for the buried treasure thatold 'Notch-ear' Beggs had told them so exactly about. Remembrance ofthat episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in hispocket. He had found them in a chest along the beach! He was coming up on the porch now and at the sound of his foot onthe sagging boards the screen door burst open and three littleEarth-creatures were hugging at his legs. An odd sensation, that hisacquired memories labeled as pleasure, sent a warm glow upward fromaround his heart. Then he saw the slender red-haired shape of a woman, the mate of thedead man he knew, and confusion struck his well-trained brain. Menhad no mates on Ortha, sex had been overthrown with all the otherprimitive impulses of barbarism; so he was incapable of understandingthe emotions that swept through his acquired memory. Unsteadily he took her in his arms and felt her warm lips pressed,trembling, against his own. That same hot wave of pulsing blood chokedachingly up into his throat. Lew, dear, Ellen was asking, where have you been all day? I calledup at the landing but you were not there. I wanted to let you know thatSaddlebag Publications sent a check for $50 for Reversed Revolversand three other editors asked for shorts soon. <doc-sep>Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn, grunted Thig, and gasped. For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly hadhe acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciouslyadopting the thinking and mannerism of the other. All the better thisway, he realized—more natural. Sorry I was late, he said, digging into his pocket for theglittering baubles, but I was poking around on the beach where we usedto hunt treasure and I found an old chest. Inside it I found nothingbut a handful of these. He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung,unbelieving, to his arm. Why, Lew, she gasped, they're worth a fortune! We can buy that newtrailer now and have a rebuilt motor in the car. We can go west rightaway.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys! Uh huh, agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savagesand gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely hehoped that the west had reformed. I saved some kraut and weiners, Ellen said. Get washed up while I'mwarming them up. Kids ate all the bread so I had to borrow some fromthe Eskoes. Want coffee, too? Mmmmmm, came from the depths of the chipped white wash-basin. <doc-sep>Home again, whispered Ellen as she stood beside Thig twelve weekslater and gazed tearfully at the weathered little gray house. She kneltbeside the front stoop and reached for the key hidden beneath it. The west was wonderful; tremendous, vast and beautiful, she wenton as they climbed the steps, but nowhere was there any place asbeautiful as our own little strip of sky and water. Thig sank into a dusty old swing that hung on creaking chains from theexposed rafters of the porch roof. He looked down at the dusty gray carand the bulbous silvery bulk of the trailer that had been their livingquarters for almost three months. Strange thoughts were afloat in thechaos of his cool Orthan brain. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest he must contact his two fellowsand report that Earth was a planetary paradise. No other world,including Ortha, was so well-favored and rich. An expeditionary forceto wipe the grotesque civilizations of Earth out of existence would,of course, be necessary before the first units of new Hordes could belanded. And there Thig balked. Why must they destroy these people,imperfect though their civilization might be, to make room for theHordes? Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of thedead Earthman that made him feel so, but he was not too sure. For threemonths he had lived with people who loved, hated, wept and sacrificedfor reasons that he had never known existed. He had learned the headyglory of thinking for himself and making his own decisions. He hadexperienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue againstthe wits of other unpredictable human beings. There was no abruptdivision of men and women into definite classes of endeavor. A laborerthought the same thoughts that a governor might think. Uncertaintyadded zest to every day's life. The Orthan had come to question the sole devotion of the individual tothe Horde to the exclusion of all other interests. What, he wondered,would one new world—or a hundred—populated by the Hordes add tothe progress of humanity? For a hundred thousand years the Orthancivilization had remained static, its energies directed into certainwell-defined channels. They were mindless bees maintaining their vastmechanical hives. There was that moment on the brink of the Grand Canyon when Ellen hadcaught his arm breathlessly at all the beauty spread away there beneaththem. There were mornings in the desert when the sun painted in luridred the peaks above the harsh black-and-whites of the sagebrush andcactus slopes. There was the little boy, his body burning with fever,who nestled trustingly against his tense man's body and slept—the sonof Ellen and the man he had destroyed. Thig groaned. He was a weakling to let sentimentality so get the betterof his judgment. He would go now to the space ship and urge them toblast off for Ortha. He sprang off the porch and strode away down theroad toward the beach. The children ran to him; wanted to go along. He sent them away harshlybut they smiled and waved their brown little hands. Ellen came to thedoor and called after him. Hurry home, dear, she said. I'll have a bite ready in about an hour. He dared not say anything, for his voice would have broken and shewould have known something was wrong. She was a very wise sort ofperson when something was troubling him. He waved his stubby paw of ahand to show that he had heard, and blindly hurried toward the Sound. Oddly enough, as he hurried away along the narrow path through theautumn woods, his mind busied itself with a new epic of the west thatlived no longer. He mentally titled it: Rustlers' Riot and blockedin the outlines of his plot. One section of his brain was that of thecareless author of gunslinging yarns, a section that seemed to besapping the life from his own brain. He knew that the story would neverbe written, but he toyed with the idea. So far had Thig the emotionless, robot-being from Ortha drifted fromthe unquestioning worship of the Horde! <doc-sep>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once. I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation. But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort? Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking. Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten. Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha. Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes. The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them. Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet. Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde. No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde. Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered. Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig. <doc-sep>The scales swung in favor of Kam. Slowly the flaring snout of hisweapon tilted upward until it reached the level of Thig's waist. Thigsuddenly released his grip and dragged his enemy toward him. A suddenreversal of pressure on Kam's gun hand sent the weapon swivellingabout full upon its owner's thick torso. Thig's fingers pressed downupon Kam's button finger, down upon the stud set into the grip of thedecomposition blaster, and Kam's muscles turned to water. He shrieked. Before Thig's eyes half of his comrade's body sloughed away into foulcorruption that swiftly gave way to hardened blobs of dessicatedmatter. Horror for what he had done—that he had slain one of his ownHorde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulledfor the moment. Painfully slow, he turned his body around toward thecontrol blister, turned around on leaden feet, to look full into thenarrowed icy eyes of his commander. He saw the heavy barrel of the blaster slashing down against hisskull but he could not swing a fraction of an inch out of the way.His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waitedstupidly for the blow to fall, the end for Ellen and the kids and allthe struggling races of Earth. He would never write another cowboyyarn—they would all be dead anyhow soon. Then a thunderclap exploded against his head and he dropped endlesslytoward the deck. Blows rained against his skull. He wondered if Torpwould ever cease to hammer at him and turn the deadly ray of the weaponupon him. Blood throbbed and pounded with every blow.... <doc-sep>Bam, Bam, Bam, the blood pounded in his ears. Like repeated blows of ahammer they shook his booming head. No longer was Torp above him. Hewas in the corner of the laboratory, a crumpled blood-smeared heap ofbruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked uponhis skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killedhim with those savage blows upon the head. Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of hisancestors at times; but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he nowowed his life. A cool-headed robot of an Orthan would have efficientlyused the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in hisunconscious body. Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the controlroom. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodiesthrough the refuse lock. Already the body of Kam was gone. He wonderedwhy he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take culturesof his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsiblefor his sudden madness. The cases of fragile instruments were just above his head. Associationof memories brought him the flash of the heavy blaster in its rackbeneath them. His hand went up and felt the welcome hardness of theweapon. He tugged it free. In a moment he was on his knees crawling across the plates of the decktoward the door. Halfway across the floor he collapsed on his face,the metal of the gun making a harsh clang. He heard the feet of Torpscuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalledout into a senseless whinny. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black lengthof the blaster in front of him. His eyes sought the doorway and staredfull into the glaring vacant orbs of his commander. Torp leaned therewatching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bittenlips. The clawing marks of nails, fingernails, furrowed his face andchest. He was a madman! The deadly attack of Thig; his own violent avenging of Kam's death, andnow the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had allserved to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove.The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes ofthe Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant madstare set him, too, to gibbering and shrieking. Then he stepped overthe skeleton-thing that had been Torp, using the new strength thatvictory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thoughtsobered him; yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. Afterall, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinkingof while he battled Kam, a selfish desire to protect them all. He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log andread the last few nervously scrawled lines: Planet 72-P-3 unfit for colonization. Some pernicious disease thatstrikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existentthere. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad anddestroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended.Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for theplanet Ortha. Unless a rogue asteroid or a comet crossed the ship'spath she would return safely to Ortha with that mute warning of dangeron 72-P-3. The body of Torp would help to confirm his final message. Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one ofa half-dozen space ships in miniature nested within the great ship'shull, and cut free from the mother vessel. He flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of the rockets drivinghim from the parent ship. The sensation of free flight against his newbody was strangely exhilerating and heady. It was the newest of theemotions he had experienced on Earth since that day, so many monthsbefore, when he had felt the warmness of Ellen's lips tight against his. Thig flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of therockets driving him from the parent ship. He swung about to the port, watched the flaming drive-rockets of thegreat exploratory ship hurl it toward far-away Ortha, and there was noregret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his firstexistence. He thought of the dull greys and blacks of his planet, of themonotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heartthrilled to the memories of the starry nights and perfect exciting dayshe had spent on his three month trip over Earth. He made a brief salute to the existence he had known, turned with atiny sigh, and his fingers made brief adjustments in the controls. Therocket-thrum deepened, and the thin whistle of tenuous air clutchingthe ship echoed through the hull-plates. He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched theroundness of Earth flatten out, then take on the cup-like illusionthat all planets had for an incoming ship. He reduced the drive of hisrockets to a mere whisper, striving to control the impatience thatcrowded his mind. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first timehe had sent a space ship whipping down toward the hills and valleysbelow. And there was a sickness within him when he fully realized that,despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outerspace. He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slightdifferences in his appearance from an Earthman's, and his fingerstrembled a bit, as he bent and stared through the vision port. He saida brief prayer in his heart to a God whose presence he now felt verydeeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memorieswere hot, bitter pains. <doc-sep>Earth was not far below him. As he let gravity suck him earthward, heheaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde'screation, but Lewis Terry, writer of lurid gun-smoking tales of theWest. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry andnow, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would bea knife twisting in his heart but for her sake he must endure it. Herdreams and happiness must never be shattered. The bulge of Earth was flattening out now and he could see the outlinesof Long Island in the growing twilight. A new plot was growing in the brain of Lewis Terry, a yarn about acowboy suddenly transported to another world. He smiled ironically.He had seen those other worlds. Perhaps some day he would write aboutthem.... He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Three aliens from the planet Ortha, Thig, Kam and their Commander, Torp, have landed on Long Island to see if Earth is viable for the Orthans to take over. Thig captures a passing man, an author named Lewis Terry, and brings him back to the spaceship, where Torp decides that Thig should impersonate Terry to learn more about Earth. Terry’s knowledge is transferred to Thig, a process that kills Terry and arms Thig with with all of his memories. He is given plastic surgery to look like Terry, and he goes to live with Terry’s family. He is greeted by Terry’s three young children and his wife, Ellen; the children’s affection and Ellen’s kiss lead to sensations that confuse but excite Thig. The story then jumps ahead 12 weeks to when they return from their vacation, Thig having experienced many new emotions and sensations and having become very attached to Terry’s family. He knows that he must report to his Orthan colleagues, but has misgivings about doing so. Upon his arrival back to the ship, he tells Torp that Earth is ideal for their purposes, and Torp commends him and says he’ll recommend that Ortha take it over and eradicate the humans. Thig suggests that they instead disarm and exile the humans, and train them in the ways of Ortha. Torp responds angrily that they don’t need to waste their time with anyone outside the Orthan “Horde”. He asks Kam to check his blood for disease. Thig realizes that he loves Ellen and wants to protect her and the earthlings and says as much to Kam, who attempts to subdue him. After a struggle over Kam’s blaster, Thig kills him. Torp sees what he has done and flies into the type of rage Orthans don’t ascribe to, bludgeoning Thig until he thinks he is dead. Thig takes a blaster from a case above him and kills Torp. He reads in the ship log that Torp has written that Earth is not viable, because it infected Thig with a disease that led to him killing Kam and made it necessary for Torp to kill him. Thig puts the ship on autopilot toward Ortha, takes one of the small auxiliary ships, and heads back to Earth. He experiences many emotions, and regrets how callous he was when he first arrived on Earth and captured Lewis Terry. He vows to live as Terry in repayment to his family, and thinks knowing that Ellen doesn’t really love him, Thig, will be his punishment while he strives to make her happy. As he heads toward Long Island, the idea for a story develops in his mind. This one is about a cowboy that visits other worlds, worlds like the ones Thig has seen. He thinks maybe he could write this, and then reminds himself to remember that he is Lewis Terry now.

Who is Thig and what happens to him throughout the story? [SEP] <s> QUEST OF THIG By BASIL WELLS Thig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering HORDE. He had blasted across trackless space to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on Earth emotions that were more deadly than weapons. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beachover the metal lid of the flexible ringed tunnel that linked the grubbyship from another planet with the upper air. He looked out across theheaving waters of the Sound toward Connecticut. He stared appraisinglyaround at the luxuriant green growth of foliage further inland; andstarted toward the little stretch of trees and brush, walking carefullybecause of the lesser gravitation. Thig was shorter than the average Earthman—although on Ortha hewas well above the average in height—but his body was thick andpowerfully muscled. His skull was well-shaped and large; his featureswere regular, perhaps a trifle oversize, and his hair and eyes werea curiously matching blend of reddish brown. Oddest of all, he woreno garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support hisrod-like weapon of white metal and his pouches for food and specimens. The Orthan entered the narrow strip of trees and crossed to thelittle-used highway on the other side. Here he patiently sat down towait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was tobring a native, intact if possible, back to the carefully buried spacecruiser where his two fellows and himself would drain the creature'smentality of all its knowledge. In this way they could learn whether aplanet was suited for colonization by later swarms of Orthans. Already they had charted over a hundred celestial bodies but of themall only three had proven worthy of consideration. This latest planet,however, 72-P-3 on the chart, appeared to be an ideal world in everyrespect. Sunlight, plenty of water and a dense atmospheric envelopemade of 72-P-3 a paradise among planets. The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of aleafy shrub. A creature was approaching. Its squat body was coveredwith baggy strips of bluish cloth and it carried a jointed rod of metaland wood in its paw. It walked upright as did the men of Ortha. Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing'sstupid face. It was as though he was looking into a bit of polishedmetal at the reflection of himself! The Earthman was opposite now and he must waste no more precioustime. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across theintervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clampedacross the mouth and neck of the stranger.... <doc-sep>Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that hadground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigiddesolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he wasgoing stale. He had sat every day for eight hours in front of thatshiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feeblyhe had punched a key two days ago and a $ sign had appeared. He hadn'tdared touch the machine since. For Mr. Terry, that hard-hitting writer of two-gun action, had neverbeen further west of Long Island than Elizabeth, and he had promisedhis wife, Ellen, that he would take the three children and herself ona trailer tour of the West that very summer. Since that promise, hecould not write a word. Visions of whooping red-skinned Apaches andbe-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up outof his subconscious. Yet he had to write at least three novelets anda fistful of short stories in the next two weeks to finance the greatadventure—or the trip was off. So Lewis left the weathered old cottage in the early dawn and headedfor his tubby old boat at the landing in an attempt to work out asalable yarn.... Hey! he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside theroad. What's the trouble? Then he had no time for further speech, the massive arms of thestranger had wound around him and two hamlike hands shut off his speechand his wind. He fought futilely against trained muscles. The handclamping his throat relaxed for a moment and hacked along the side ofhis head. Blackness flooded the brain of Lewis, and he knew no more. <doc-sep>There it is, announced Thig, dropping the limp body of the capturedEarthman to the metal deck-plates. It is a male of the species thatmust have built the cities we saw as we landed. He resembles Thig, announced Kam. But for the strange covering hewears he might be Thig. Thig will be this creature! announced Torp. With a psychic relay wewill transfer the Earthman's memories and meager store of knowledge tothe brain of Thig! He can then go out and scout this world withoutarousing suspicion. While he is gone, I will take Kam and explore thetwo inner planets. You are the commander, said Thig. But I wish this beast did not wearthese clumsy sheathing upon his body. On Ortha we do not hamper the useof our limbs so. Do not question the word of your commander, growled Torp, swellingout his thick chest menacingly. It is for the good of our people thatyou disguise yourself as an Earthman. For the good of the Horde, Thig intoned almost piously as he liftedTerry's body and headed for the laboratory. Service for the Horde was all that the men of Ortha knew. Carefullycultured and brought to life in the laboratories of their Horde, theyknew neither father nor mother. Affection and love were entirelylacking in their early training and later life. They were trainedantlike from childhood that only the growth and power of the Hordewere of any moment. Men and women alike toiled and died like unfeelingrobots of flesh and bone for the Horde. The Horde was their religion,their love-life, their everything! So it was that the bodies of the Earthman and the Orthan were strappedon two parallel tables of chill metal and the twin helmets, linked toone another by the intricacies of the psychic relay, put upon theirheads. For ten hours or more the droning hum of the relay sucked Terry's braindry of knowledge. The shock upon the nervous system of the Earthmanproved too violent and his heart faltered after a time and stoppedcompletely. Twice, with subtle drugs they restored pseudo-life to hisbody and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his torturedbrain, but after the third suspension of life Thig removed his helmet. There is nothing more to learn, he informed his impassive comrades.Now, let us get on with the plastic surgery that is required. My newbody must return to its barbaric household before undue attention isaroused. And when I return I will take along some of the gleamingbaubles we found on the red planet—these people value them highly. An hour later, his scars and altered cartilage already healed andpainless, Thig again scraped sand over the entrance to the space shipand set out along the moonlit beach toward the nearest path runninginland to his home. Memory was laying the country bare about him, Terry's own childhoodmemories of this particular section of Long Island. Here was the placewhere Jake and Ted had helped him dig for the buried treasure thatold 'Notch-ear' Beggs had told them so exactly about. Remembrance ofthat episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in hispocket. He had found them in a chest along the beach! He was coming up on the porch now and at the sound of his foot onthe sagging boards the screen door burst open and three littleEarth-creatures were hugging at his legs. An odd sensation, that hisacquired memories labeled as pleasure, sent a warm glow upward fromaround his heart. Then he saw the slender red-haired shape of a woman, the mate of thedead man he knew, and confusion struck his well-trained brain. Menhad no mates on Ortha, sex had been overthrown with all the otherprimitive impulses of barbarism; so he was incapable of understandingthe emotions that swept through his acquired memory. Unsteadily he took her in his arms and felt her warm lips pressed,trembling, against his own. That same hot wave of pulsing blood chokedachingly up into his throat. Lew, dear, Ellen was asking, where have you been all day? I calledup at the landing but you were not there. I wanted to let you know thatSaddlebag Publications sent a check for $50 for Reversed Revolversand three other editors asked for shorts soon. <doc-sep>Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn, grunted Thig, and gasped. For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly hadhe acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciouslyadopting the thinking and mannerism of the other. All the better thisway, he realized—more natural. Sorry I was late, he said, digging into his pocket for theglittering baubles, but I was poking around on the beach where we usedto hunt treasure and I found an old chest. Inside it I found nothingbut a handful of these. He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung,unbelieving, to his arm. Why, Lew, she gasped, they're worth a fortune! We can buy that newtrailer now and have a rebuilt motor in the car. We can go west rightaway.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys! Uh huh, agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savagesand gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely hehoped that the west had reformed. I saved some kraut and weiners, Ellen said. Get washed up while I'mwarming them up. Kids ate all the bread so I had to borrow some fromthe Eskoes. Want coffee, too? Mmmmmm, came from the depths of the chipped white wash-basin. <doc-sep>Home again, whispered Ellen as she stood beside Thig twelve weekslater and gazed tearfully at the weathered little gray house. She kneltbeside the front stoop and reached for the key hidden beneath it. The west was wonderful; tremendous, vast and beautiful, she wenton as they climbed the steps, but nowhere was there any place asbeautiful as our own little strip of sky and water. Thig sank into a dusty old swing that hung on creaking chains from theexposed rafters of the porch roof. He looked down at the dusty gray carand the bulbous silvery bulk of the trailer that had been their livingquarters for almost three months. Strange thoughts were afloat in thechaos of his cool Orthan brain. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest he must contact his two fellowsand report that Earth was a planetary paradise. No other world,including Ortha, was so well-favored and rich. An expeditionary forceto wipe the grotesque civilizations of Earth out of existence would,of course, be necessary before the first units of new Hordes could belanded. And there Thig balked. Why must they destroy these people,imperfect though their civilization might be, to make room for theHordes? Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of thedead Earthman that made him feel so, but he was not too sure. For threemonths he had lived with people who loved, hated, wept and sacrificedfor reasons that he had never known existed. He had learned the headyglory of thinking for himself and making his own decisions. He hadexperienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue againstthe wits of other unpredictable human beings. There was no abruptdivision of men and women into definite classes of endeavor. A laborerthought the same thoughts that a governor might think. Uncertaintyadded zest to every day's life. The Orthan had come to question the sole devotion of the individual tothe Horde to the exclusion of all other interests. What, he wondered,would one new world—or a hundred—populated by the Hordes add tothe progress of humanity? For a hundred thousand years the Orthancivilization had remained static, its energies directed into certainwell-defined channels. They were mindless bees maintaining their vastmechanical hives. There was that moment on the brink of the Grand Canyon when Ellen hadcaught his arm breathlessly at all the beauty spread away there beneaththem. There were mornings in the desert when the sun painted in luridred the peaks above the harsh black-and-whites of the sagebrush andcactus slopes. There was the little boy, his body burning with fever,who nestled trustingly against his tense man's body and slept—the sonof Ellen and the man he had destroyed. Thig groaned. He was a weakling to let sentimentality so get the betterof his judgment. He would go now to the space ship and urge them toblast off for Ortha. He sprang off the porch and strode away down theroad toward the beach. The children ran to him; wanted to go along. He sent them away harshlybut they smiled and waved their brown little hands. Ellen came to thedoor and called after him. Hurry home, dear, she said. I'll have a bite ready in about an hour. He dared not say anything, for his voice would have broken and shewould have known something was wrong. She was a very wise sort ofperson when something was troubling him. He waved his stubby paw of ahand to show that he had heard, and blindly hurried toward the Sound. Oddly enough, as he hurried away along the narrow path through theautumn woods, his mind busied itself with a new epic of the west thatlived no longer. He mentally titled it: Rustlers' Riot and blockedin the outlines of his plot. One section of his brain was that of thecareless author of gunslinging yarns, a section that seemed to besapping the life from his own brain. He knew that the story would neverbe written, but he toyed with the idea. So far had Thig the emotionless, robot-being from Ortha drifted fromthe unquestioning worship of the Horde! <doc-sep>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once. I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation. But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort? Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking. Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten. Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha. Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes. The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them. Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet. Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde. No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde. Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered. Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig. <doc-sep>The scales swung in favor of Kam. Slowly the flaring snout of hisweapon tilted upward until it reached the level of Thig's waist. Thigsuddenly released his grip and dragged his enemy toward him. A suddenreversal of pressure on Kam's gun hand sent the weapon swivellingabout full upon its owner's thick torso. Thig's fingers pressed downupon Kam's button finger, down upon the stud set into the grip of thedecomposition blaster, and Kam's muscles turned to water. He shrieked. Before Thig's eyes half of his comrade's body sloughed away into foulcorruption that swiftly gave way to hardened blobs of dessicatedmatter. Horror for what he had done—that he had slain one of his ownHorde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulledfor the moment. Painfully slow, he turned his body around toward thecontrol blister, turned around on leaden feet, to look full into thenarrowed icy eyes of his commander. He saw the heavy barrel of the blaster slashing down against hisskull but he could not swing a fraction of an inch out of the way.His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waitedstupidly for the blow to fall, the end for Ellen and the kids and allthe struggling races of Earth. He would never write another cowboyyarn—they would all be dead anyhow soon. Then a thunderclap exploded against his head and he dropped endlesslytoward the deck. Blows rained against his skull. He wondered if Torpwould ever cease to hammer at him and turn the deadly ray of the weaponupon him. Blood throbbed and pounded with every blow.... <doc-sep>Bam, Bam, Bam, the blood pounded in his ears. Like repeated blows of ahammer they shook his booming head. No longer was Torp above him. Hewas in the corner of the laboratory, a crumpled blood-smeared heap ofbruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked uponhis skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killedhim with those savage blows upon the head. Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of hisancestors at times; but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he nowowed his life. A cool-headed robot of an Orthan would have efficientlyused the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in hisunconscious body. Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the controlroom. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodiesthrough the refuse lock. Already the body of Kam was gone. He wonderedwhy he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take culturesof his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsiblefor his sudden madness. The cases of fragile instruments were just above his head. Associationof memories brought him the flash of the heavy blaster in its rackbeneath them. His hand went up and felt the welcome hardness of theweapon. He tugged it free. In a moment he was on his knees crawling across the plates of the decktoward the door. Halfway across the floor he collapsed on his face,the metal of the gun making a harsh clang. He heard the feet of Torpscuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalledout into a senseless whinny. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black lengthof the blaster in front of him. His eyes sought the doorway and staredfull into the glaring vacant orbs of his commander. Torp leaned therewatching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bittenlips. The clawing marks of nails, fingernails, furrowed his face andchest. He was a madman! The deadly attack of Thig; his own violent avenging of Kam's death, andnow the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had allserved to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove.The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes ofthe Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant madstare set him, too, to gibbering and shrieking. Then he stepped overthe skeleton-thing that had been Torp, using the new strength thatvictory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thoughtsobered him; yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. Afterall, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinkingof while he battled Kam, a selfish desire to protect them all. He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log andread the last few nervously scrawled lines: Planet 72-P-3 unfit for colonization. Some pernicious disease thatstrikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existentthere. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad anddestroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended.Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for theplanet Ortha. Unless a rogue asteroid or a comet crossed the ship'spath she would return safely to Ortha with that mute warning of dangeron 72-P-3. The body of Torp would help to confirm his final message. Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one ofa half-dozen space ships in miniature nested within the great ship'shull, and cut free from the mother vessel. He flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of the rockets drivinghim from the parent ship. The sensation of free flight against his newbody was strangely exhilerating and heady. It was the newest of theemotions he had experienced on Earth since that day, so many monthsbefore, when he had felt the warmness of Ellen's lips tight against his. Thig flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of therockets driving him from the parent ship. He swung about to the port, watched the flaming drive-rockets of thegreat exploratory ship hurl it toward far-away Ortha, and there was noregret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his firstexistence. He thought of the dull greys and blacks of his planet, of themonotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heartthrilled to the memories of the starry nights and perfect exciting dayshe had spent on his three month trip over Earth. He made a brief salute to the existence he had known, turned with atiny sigh, and his fingers made brief adjustments in the controls. Therocket-thrum deepened, and the thin whistle of tenuous air clutchingthe ship echoed through the hull-plates. He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched theroundness of Earth flatten out, then take on the cup-like illusionthat all planets had for an incoming ship. He reduced the drive of hisrockets to a mere whisper, striving to control the impatience thatcrowded his mind. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first timehe had sent a space ship whipping down toward the hills and valleysbelow. And there was a sickness within him when he fully realized that,despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outerspace. He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slightdifferences in his appearance from an Earthman's, and his fingerstrembled a bit, as he bent and stared through the vision port. He saida brief prayer in his heart to a God whose presence he now felt verydeeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memorieswere hot, bitter pains. <doc-sep>Earth was not far below him. As he let gravity suck him earthward, heheaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde'screation, but Lewis Terry, writer of lurid gun-smoking tales of theWest. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry andnow, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would bea knife twisting in his heart but for her sake he must endure it. Herdreams and happiness must never be shattered. The bulge of Earth was flattening out now and he could see the outlinesof Long Island in the growing twilight. A new plot was growing in the brain of Lewis Terry, a yarn about acowboy suddenly transported to another world. He smiled ironically.He had seen those other worlds. Perhaps some day he would write aboutthem.... He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Thig and what happens to him throughout the story?

Thig is the protagonist of the story, a native of the planet Ortha. He is described as shorter than an average human man (though tall for an Orthan man), and thick-bodied with well-developed muscles, average-to-large facial features, and reddish brown eyes. At the beginning of the story, he and two other Orthans, Kam and Torp, are on a mission to find planets considered viable for the Orthans to take over. Thig kidnaps a human man, Lewis Terry, and the Orthans transfer his memories to Thig and surgically alter him to look like Terry. Thig assumes his identity and joins his family posing as Terry. He begins to feel new sensations and emotions around Terry’s wife, Ellen, and their kids, and travels with them on a three-month vacation during which he learns what it feels like to be human and to care for a family. When they return and he must make his report to the other Orthans, he truthfully reports that Earth would be ideal to take over but has second thoughts when Torp says he’ll recommend that they conquer Earth and decimate the population. When his pleas to consider just disarming and exiling the humans are met with scorn, Thig becomes angry and ultimately realizes that he loves Ellen and wants to go back to save Earth. He kills both of his Orthan colleagues and sends the ship back toward Ortha as he takes an auxiliary ship back to Long Island. Along the way, he experiences many emotions including regret for his former callousness and taking Lewis Terry away from his family. Instead of the robotic being who initially exhibited coldness and indifference at the beginning of the story, he now experiences remorse and selflessness as he decides to give Ellen and the kids the life they deserve even though he’ll always know who he is and what he has done.

Describe the setting of the story. [SEP] <s> QUEST OF THIG By BASIL WELLS Thig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering HORDE. He had blasted across trackless space to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on Earth emotions that were more deadly than weapons. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beachover the metal lid of the flexible ringed tunnel that linked the grubbyship from another planet with the upper air. He looked out across theheaving waters of the Sound toward Connecticut. He stared appraisinglyaround at the luxuriant green growth of foliage further inland; andstarted toward the little stretch of trees and brush, walking carefullybecause of the lesser gravitation. Thig was shorter than the average Earthman—although on Ortha hewas well above the average in height—but his body was thick andpowerfully muscled. His skull was well-shaped and large; his featureswere regular, perhaps a trifle oversize, and his hair and eyes werea curiously matching blend of reddish brown. Oddest of all, he woreno garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support hisrod-like weapon of white metal and his pouches for food and specimens. The Orthan entered the narrow strip of trees and crossed to thelittle-used highway on the other side. Here he patiently sat down towait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was tobring a native, intact if possible, back to the carefully buried spacecruiser where his two fellows and himself would drain the creature'smentality of all its knowledge. In this way they could learn whether aplanet was suited for colonization by later swarms of Orthans. Already they had charted over a hundred celestial bodies but of themall only three had proven worthy of consideration. This latest planet,however, 72-P-3 on the chart, appeared to be an ideal world in everyrespect. Sunlight, plenty of water and a dense atmospheric envelopemade of 72-P-3 a paradise among planets. The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of aleafy shrub. A creature was approaching. Its squat body was coveredwith baggy strips of bluish cloth and it carried a jointed rod of metaland wood in its paw. It walked upright as did the men of Ortha. Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing'sstupid face. It was as though he was looking into a bit of polishedmetal at the reflection of himself! The Earthman was opposite now and he must waste no more precioustime. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across theintervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clampedacross the mouth and neck of the stranger.... <doc-sep>Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that hadground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigiddesolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he wasgoing stale. He had sat every day for eight hours in front of thatshiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feeblyhe had punched a key two days ago and a $ sign had appeared. He hadn'tdared touch the machine since. For Mr. Terry, that hard-hitting writer of two-gun action, had neverbeen further west of Long Island than Elizabeth, and he had promisedhis wife, Ellen, that he would take the three children and herself ona trailer tour of the West that very summer. Since that promise, hecould not write a word. Visions of whooping red-skinned Apaches andbe-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up outof his subconscious. Yet he had to write at least three novelets anda fistful of short stories in the next two weeks to finance the greatadventure—or the trip was off. So Lewis left the weathered old cottage in the early dawn and headedfor his tubby old boat at the landing in an attempt to work out asalable yarn.... Hey! he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside theroad. What's the trouble? Then he had no time for further speech, the massive arms of thestranger had wound around him and two hamlike hands shut off his speechand his wind. He fought futilely against trained muscles. The handclamping his throat relaxed for a moment and hacked along the side ofhis head. Blackness flooded the brain of Lewis, and he knew no more. <doc-sep>There it is, announced Thig, dropping the limp body of the capturedEarthman to the metal deck-plates. It is a male of the species thatmust have built the cities we saw as we landed. He resembles Thig, announced Kam. But for the strange covering hewears he might be Thig. Thig will be this creature! announced Torp. With a psychic relay wewill transfer the Earthman's memories and meager store of knowledge tothe brain of Thig! He can then go out and scout this world withoutarousing suspicion. While he is gone, I will take Kam and explore thetwo inner planets. You are the commander, said Thig. But I wish this beast did not wearthese clumsy sheathing upon his body. On Ortha we do not hamper the useof our limbs so. Do not question the word of your commander, growled Torp, swellingout his thick chest menacingly. It is for the good of our people thatyou disguise yourself as an Earthman. For the good of the Horde, Thig intoned almost piously as he liftedTerry's body and headed for the laboratory. Service for the Horde was all that the men of Ortha knew. Carefullycultured and brought to life in the laboratories of their Horde, theyknew neither father nor mother. Affection and love were entirelylacking in their early training and later life. They were trainedantlike from childhood that only the growth and power of the Hordewere of any moment. Men and women alike toiled and died like unfeelingrobots of flesh and bone for the Horde. The Horde was their religion,their love-life, their everything! So it was that the bodies of the Earthman and the Orthan were strappedon two parallel tables of chill metal and the twin helmets, linked toone another by the intricacies of the psychic relay, put upon theirheads. For ten hours or more the droning hum of the relay sucked Terry's braindry of knowledge. The shock upon the nervous system of the Earthmanproved too violent and his heart faltered after a time and stoppedcompletely. Twice, with subtle drugs they restored pseudo-life to hisbody and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his torturedbrain, but after the third suspension of life Thig removed his helmet. There is nothing more to learn, he informed his impassive comrades.Now, let us get on with the plastic surgery that is required. My newbody must return to its barbaric household before undue attention isaroused. And when I return I will take along some of the gleamingbaubles we found on the red planet—these people value them highly. An hour later, his scars and altered cartilage already healed andpainless, Thig again scraped sand over the entrance to the space shipand set out along the moonlit beach toward the nearest path runninginland to his home. Memory was laying the country bare about him, Terry's own childhoodmemories of this particular section of Long Island. Here was the placewhere Jake and Ted had helped him dig for the buried treasure thatold 'Notch-ear' Beggs had told them so exactly about. Remembrance ofthat episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in hispocket. He had found them in a chest along the beach! He was coming up on the porch now and at the sound of his foot onthe sagging boards the screen door burst open and three littleEarth-creatures were hugging at his legs. An odd sensation, that hisacquired memories labeled as pleasure, sent a warm glow upward fromaround his heart. Then he saw the slender red-haired shape of a woman, the mate of thedead man he knew, and confusion struck his well-trained brain. Menhad no mates on Ortha, sex had been overthrown with all the otherprimitive impulses of barbarism; so he was incapable of understandingthe emotions that swept through his acquired memory. Unsteadily he took her in his arms and felt her warm lips pressed,trembling, against his own. That same hot wave of pulsing blood chokedachingly up into his throat. Lew, dear, Ellen was asking, where have you been all day? I calledup at the landing but you were not there. I wanted to let you know thatSaddlebag Publications sent a check for $50 for Reversed Revolversand three other editors asked for shorts soon. <doc-sep>Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn, grunted Thig, and gasped. For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly hadhe acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciouslyadopting the thinking and mannerism of the other. All the better thisway, he realized—more natural. Sorry I was late, he said, digging into his pocket for theglittering baubles, but I was poking around on the beach where we usedto hunt treasure and I found an old chest. Inside it I found nothingbut a handful of these. He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung,unbelieving, to his arm. Why, Lew, she gasped, they're worth a fortune! We can buy that newtrailer now and have a rebuilt motor in the car. We can go west rightaway.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys! Uh huh, agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savagesand gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely hehoped that the west had reformed. I saved some kraut and weiners, Ellen said. Get washed up while I'mwarming them up. Kids ate all the bread so I had to borrow some fromthe Eskoes. Want coffee, too? Mmmmmm, came from the depths of the chipped white wash-basin. <doc-sep>Home again, whispered Ellen as she stood beside Thig twelve weekslater and gazed tearfully at the weathered little gray house. She kneltbeside the front stoop and reached for the key hidden beneath it. The west was wonderful; tremendous, vast and beautiful, she wenton as they climbed the steps, but nowhere was there any place asbeautiful as our own little strip of sky and water. Thig sank into a dusty old swing that hung on creaking chains from theexposed rafters of the porch roof. He looked down at the dusty gray carand the bulbous silvery bulk of the trailer that had been their livingquarters for almost three months. Strange thoughts were afloat in thechaos of his cool Orthan brain. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest he must contact his two fellowsand report that Earth was a planetary paradise. No other world,including Ortha, was so well-favored and rich. An expeditionary forceto wipe the grotesque civilizations of Earth out of existence would,of course, be necessary before the first units of new Hordes could belanded. And there Thig balked. Why must they destroy these people,imperfect though their civilization might be, to make room for theHordes? Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of thedead Earthman that made him feel so, but he was not too sure. For threemonths he had lived with people who loved, hated, wept and sacrificedfor reasons that he had never known existed. He had learned the headyglory of thinking for himself and making his own decisions. He hadexperienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue againstthe wits of other unpredictable human beings. There was no abruptdivision of men and women into definite classes of endeavor. A laborerthought the same thoughts that a governor might think. Uncertaintyadded zest to every day's life. The Orthan had come to question the sole devotion of the individual tothe Horde to the exclusion of all other interests. What, he wondered,would one new world—or a hundred—populated by the Hordes add tothe progress of humanity? For a hundred thousand years the Orthancivilization had remained static, its energies directed into certainwell-defined channels. They were mindless bees maintaining their vastmechanical hives. There was that moment on the brink of the Grand Canyon when Ellen hadcaught his arm breathlessly at all the beauty spread away there beneaththem. There were mornings in the desert when the sun painted in luridred the peaks above the harsh black-and-whites of the sagebrush andcactus slopes. There was the little boy, his body burning with fever,who nestled trustingly against his tense man's body and slept—the sonof Ellen and the man he had destroyed. Thig groaned. He was a weakling to let sentimentality so get the betterof his judgment. He would go now to the space ship and urge them toblast off for Ortha. He sprang off the porch and strode away down theroad toward the beach. The children ran to him; wanted to go along. He sent them away harshlybut they smiled and waved their brown little hands. Ellen came to thedoor and called after him. Hurry home, dear, she said. I'll have a bite ready in about an hour. He dared not say anything, for his voice would have broken and shewould have known something was wrong. She was a very wise sort ofperson when something was troubling him. He waved his stubby paw of ahand to show that he had heard, and blindly hurried toward the Sound. Oddly enough, as he hurried away along the narrow path through theautumn woods, his mind busied itself with a new epic of the west thatlived no longer. He mentally titled it: Rustlers' Riot and blockedin the outlines of his plot. One section of his brain was that of thecareless author of gunslinging yarns, a section that seemed to besapping the life from his own brain. He knew that the story would neverbe written, but he toyed with the idea. So far had Thig the emotionless, robot-being from Ortha drifted fromthe unquestioning worship of the Horde! <doc-sep>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once. I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation. But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort? Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking. Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten. Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha. Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes. The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them. Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet. Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde. No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde. Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered. Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig. <doc-sep>The scales swung in favor of Kam. Slowly the flaring snout of hisweapon tilted upward until it reached the level of Thig's waist. Thigsuddenly released his grip and dragged his enemy toward him. A suddenreversal of pressure on Kam's gun hand sent the weapon swivellingabout full upon its owner's thick torso. Thig's fingers pressed downupon Kam's button finger, down upon the stud set into the grip of thedecomposition blaster, and Kam's muscles turned to water. He shrieked. Before Thig's eyes half of his comrade's body sloughed away into foulcorruption that swiftly gave way to hardened blobs of dessicatedmatter. Horror for what he had done—that he had slain one of his ownHorde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulledfor the moment. Painfully slow, he turned his body around toward thecontrol blister, turned around on leaden feet, to look full into thenarrowed icy eyes of his commander. He saw the heavy barrel of the blaster slashing down against hisskull but he could not swing a fraction of an inch out of the way.His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waitedstupidly for the blow to fall, the end for Ellen and the kids and allthe struggling races of Earth. He would never write another cowboyyarn—they would all be dead anyhow soon. Then a thunderclap exploded against his head and he dropped endlesslytoward the deck. Blows rained against his skull. He wondered if Torpwould ever cease to hammer at him and turn the deadly ray of the weaponupon him. Blood throbbed and pounded with every blow.... <doc-sep>Bam, Bam, Bam, the blood pounded in his ears. Like repeated blows of ahammer they shook his booming head. No longer was Torp above him. Hewas in the corner of the laboratory, a crumpled blood-smeared heap ofbruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked uponhis skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killedhim with those savage blows upon the head. Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of hisancestors at times; but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he nowowed his life. A cool-headed robot of an Orthan would have efficientlyused the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in hisunconscious body. Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the controlroom. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodiesthrough the refuse lock. Already the body of Kam was gone. He wonderedwhy he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take culturesof his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsiblefor his sudden madness. The cases of fragile instruments were just above his head. Associationof memories brought him the flash of the heavy blaster in its rackbeneath them. His hand went up and felt the welcome hardness of theweapon. He tugged it free. In a moment he was on his knees crawling across the plates of the decktoward the door. Halfway across the floor he collapsed on his face,the metal of the gun making a harsh clang. He heard the feet of Torpscuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalledout into a senseless whinny. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black lengthof the blaster in front of him. His eyes sought the doorway and staredfull into the glaring vacant orbs of his commander. Torp leaned therewatching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bittenlips. The clawing marks of nails, fingernails, furrowed his face andchest. He was a madman! The deadly attack of Thig; his own violent avenging of Kam's death, andnow the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had allserved to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove.The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes ofthe Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant madstare set him, too, to gibbering and shrieking. Then he stepped overthe skeleton-thing that had been Torp, using the new strength thatvictory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thoughtsobered him; yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. Afterall, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinkingof while he battled Kam, a selfish desire to protect them all. He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log andread the last few nervously scrawled lines: Planet 72-P-3 unfit for colonization. Some pernicious disease thatstrikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existentthere. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad anddestroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended.Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for theplanet Ortha. Unless a rogue asteroid or a comet crossed the ship'spath she would return safely to Ortha with that mute warning of dangeron 72-P-3. The body of Torp would help to confirm his final message. Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one ofa half-dozen space ships in miniature nested within the great ship'shull, and cut free from the mother vessel. He flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of the rockets drivinghim from the parent ship. The sensation of free flight against his newbody was strangely exhilerating and heady. It was the newest of theemotions he had experienced on Earth since that day, so many monthsbefore, when he had felt the warmness of Ellen's lips tight against his. Thig flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of therockets driving him from the parent ship. He swung about to the port, watched the flaming drive-rockets of thegreat exploratory ship hurl it toward far-away Ortha, and there was noregret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his firstexistence. He thought of the dull greys and blacks of his planet, of themonotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heartthrilled to the memories of the starry nights and perfect exciting dayshe had spent on his three month trip over Earth. He made a brief salute to the existence he had known, turned with atiny sigh, and his fingers made brief adjustments in the controls. Therocket-thrum deepened, and the thin whistle of tenuous air clutchingthe ship echoed through the hull-plates. He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched theroundness of Earth flatten out, then take on the cup-like illusionthat all planets had for an incoming ship. He reduced the drive of hisrockets to a mere whisper, striving to control the impatience thatcrowded his mind. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first timehe had sent a space ship whipping down toward the hills and valleysbelow. And there was a sickness within him when he fully realized that,despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outerspace. He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slightdifferences in his appearance from an Earthman's, and his fingerstrembled a bit, as he bent and stared through the vision port. He saida brief prayer in his heart to a God whose presence he now felt verydeeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memorieswere hot, bitter pains. <doc-sep>Earth was not far below him. As he let gravity suck him earthward, heheaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde'screation, but Lewis Terry, writer of lurid gun-smoking tales of theWest. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry andnow, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would bea knife twisting in his heart but for her sake he must endure it. Herdreams and happiness must never be shattered. The bulge of Earth was flattening out now and he could see the outlinesof Long Island in the growing twilight. A new plot was growing in the brain of Lewis Terry, a yarn about acowboy suddenly transported to another world. He smiled ironically.He had seen those other worlds. Perhaps some day he would write aboutthem.... He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story.

The story is set in multiple locations, including Long Island, New York, an Orthan spaceship and smaller auxiliary ship, parts of the American West, and outer space. The ship from Ortha lands on Long Island in New York, and this is where Thig captures Lewis Terry and takes him to the Orthans’ spaceship, before settling in with his family, posing as Terry. This area of Long Island is near the beach and the sound, and is described as lush and green. The Terry family lives in a small grey house that is somewhat run down. While we don’t travel out west on the Terry family vacation, we do experience bits of it in Thig’s memory, including the Grand Canyon in Arizona and unspecified desert terrain. The story then takes us back to the ship, and a small laboratory aboard the ship, and then inside a smaller ship as it heads back to Long Island.

How do the ways of Ortha differ from those Thig discovers on Earth? [SEP] <s> QUEST OF THIG By BASIL WELLS Thig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering HORDE. He had blasted across trackless space to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on Earth emotions that were more deadly than weapons. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beachover the metal lid of the flexible ringed tunnel that linked the grubbyship from another planet with the upper air. He looked out across theheaving waters of the Sound toward Connecticut. He stared appraisinglyaround at the luxuriant green growth of foliage further inland; andstarted toward the little stretch of trees and brush, walking carefullybecause of the lesser gravitation. Thig was shorter than the average Earthman—although on Ortha hewas well above the average in height—but his body was thick andpowerfully muscled. His skull was well-shaped and large; his featureswere regular, perhaps a trifle oversize, and his hair and eyes werea curiously matching blend of reddish brown. Oddest of all, he woreno garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support hisrod-like weapon of white metal and his pouches for food and specimens. The Orthan entered the narrow strip of trees and crossed to thelittle-used highway on the other side. Here he patiently sat down towait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was tobring a native, intact if possible, back to the carefully buried spacecruiser where his two fellows and himself would drain the creature'smentality of all its knowledge. In this way they could learn whether aplanet was suited for colonization by later swarms of Orthans. Already they had charted over a hundred celestial bodies but of themall only three had proven worthy of consideration. This latest planet,however, 72-P-3 on the chart, appeared to be an ideal world in everyrespect. Sunlight, plenty of water and a dense atmospheric envelopemade of 72-P-3 a paradise among planets. The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of aleafy shrub. A creature was approaching. Its squat body was coveredwith baggy strips of bluish cloth and it carried a jointed rod of metaland wood in its paw. It walked upright as did the men of Ortha. Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing'sstupid face. It was as though he was looking into a bit of polishedmetal at the reflection of himself! The Earthman was opposite now and he must waste no more precioustime. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across theintervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clampedacross the mouth and neck of the stranger.... <doc-sep>Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that hadground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigiddesolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he wasgoing stale. He had sat every day for eight hours in front of thatshiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feeblyhe had punched a key two days ago and a $ sign had appeared. He hadn'tdared touch the machine since. For Mr. Terry, that hard-hitting writer of two-gun action, had neverbeen further west of Long Island than Elizabeth, and he had promisedhis wife, Ellen, that he would take the three children and herself ona trailer tour of the West that very summer. Since that promise, hecould not write a word. Visions of whooping red-skinned Apaches andbe-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up outof his subconscious. Yet he had to write at least three novelets anda fistful of short stories in the next two weeks to finance the greatadventure—or the trip was off. So Lewis left the weathered old cottage in the early dawn and headedfor his tubby old boat at the landing in an attempt to work out asalable yarn.... Hey! he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside theroad. What's the trouble? Then he had no time for further speech, the massive arms of thestranger had wound around him and two hamlike hands shut off his speechand his wind. He fought futilely against trained muscles. The handclamping his throat relaxed for a moment and hacked along the side ofhis head. Blackness flooded the brain of Lewis, and he knew no more. <doc-sep>There it is, announced Thig, dropping the limp body of the capturedEarthman to the metal deck-plates. It is a male of the species thatmust have built the cities we saw as we landed. He resembles Thig, announced Kam. But for the strange covering hewears he might be Thig. Thig will be this creature! announced Torp. With a psychic relay wewill transfer the Earthman's memories and meager store of knowledge tothe brain of Thig! He can then go out and scout this world withoutarousing suspicion. While he is gone, I will take Kam and explore thetwo inner planets. You are the commander, said Thig. But I wish this beast did not wearthese clumsy sheathing upon his body. On Ortha we do not hamper the useof our limbs so. Do not question the word of your commander, growled Torp, swellingout his thick chest menacingly. It is for the good of our people thatyou disguise yourself as an Earthman. For the good of the Horde, Thig intoned almost piously as he liftedTerry's body and headed for the laboratory. Service for the Horde was all that the men of Ortha knew. Carefullycultured and brought to life in the laboratories of their Horde, theyknew neither father nor mother. Affection and love were entirelylacking in their early training and later life. They were trainedantlike from childhood that only the growth and power of the Hordewere of any moment. Men and women alike toiled and died like unfeelingrobots of flesh and bone for the Horde. The Horde was their religion,their love-life, their everything! So it was that the bodies of the Earthman and the Orthan were strappedon two parallel tables of chill metal and the twin helmets, linked toone another by the intricacies of the psychic relay, put upon theirheads. For ten hours or more the droning hum of the relay sucked Terry's braindry of knowledge. The shock upon the nervous system of the Earthmanproved too violent and his heart faltered after a time and stoppedcompletely. Twice, with subtle drugs they restored pseudo-life to hisbody and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his torturedbrain, but after the third suspension of life Thig removed his helmet. There is nothing more to learn, he informed his impassive comrades.Now, let us get on with the plastic surgery that is required. My newbody must return to its barbaric household before undue attention isaroused. And when I return I will take along some of the gleamingbaubles we found on the red planet—these people value them highly. An hour later, his scars and altered cartilage already healed andpainless, Thig again scraped sand over the entrance to the space shipand set out along the moonlit beach toward the nearest path runninginland to his home. Memory was laying the country bare about him, Terry's own childhoodmemories of this particular section of Long Island. Here was the placewhere Jake and Ted had helped him dig for the buried treasure thatold 'Notch-ear' Beggs had told them so exactly about. Remembrance ofthat episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in hispocket. He had found them in a chest along the beach! He was coming up on the porch now and at the sound of his foot onthe sagging boards the screen door burst open and three littleEarth-creatures were hugging at his legs. An odd sensation, that hisacquired memories labeled as pleasure, sent a warm glow upward fromaround his heart. Then he saw the slender red-haired shape of a woman, the mate of thedead man he knew, and confusion struck his well-trained brain. Menhad no mates on Ortha, sex had been overthrown with all the otherprimitive impulses of barbarism; so he was incapable of understandingthe emotions that swept through his acquired memory. Unsteadily he took her in his arms and felt her warm lips pressed,trembling, against his own. That same hot wave of pulsing blood chokedachingly up into his throat. Lew, dear, Ellen was asking, where have you been all day? I calledup at the landing but you were not there. I wanted to let you know thatSaddlebag Publications sent a check for $50 for Reversed Revolversand three other editors asked for shorts soon. <doc-sep>Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn, grunted Thig, and gasped. For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly hadhe acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciouslyadopting the thinking and mannerism of the other. All the better thisway, he realized—more natural. Sorry I was late, he said, digging into his pocket for theglittering baubles, but I was poking around on the beach where we usedto hunt treasure and I found an old chest. Inside it I found nothingbut a handful of these. He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung,unbelieving, to his arm. Why, Lew, she gasped, they're worth a fortune! We can buy that newtrailer now and have a rebuilt motor in the car. We can go west rightaway.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys! Uh huh, agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savagesand gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely hehoped that the west had reformed. I saved some kraut and weiners, Ellen said. Get washed up while I'mwarming them up. Kids ate all the bread so I had to borrow some fromthe Eskoes. Want coffee, too? Mmmmmm, came from the depths of the chipped white wash-basin. <doc-sep>Home again, whispered Ellen as she stood beside Thig twelve weekslater and gazed tearfully at the weathered little gray house. She kneltbeside the front stoop and reached for the key hidden beneath it. The west was wonderful; tremendous, vast and beautiful, she wenton as they climbed the steps, but nowhere was there any place asbeautiful as our own little strip of sky and water. Thig sank into a dusty old swing that hung on creaking chains from theexposed rafters of the porch roof. He looked down at the dusty gray carand the bulbous silvery bulk of the trailer that had been their livingquarters for almost three months. Strange thoughts were afloat in thechaos of his cool Orthan brain. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest he must contact his two fellowsand report that Earth was a planetary paradise. No other world,including Ortha, was so well-favored and rich. An expeditionary forceto wipe the grotesque civilizations of Earth out of existence would,of course, be necessary before the first units of new Hordes could belanded. And there Thig balked. Why must they destroy these people,imperfect though their civilization might be, to make room for theHordes? Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of thedead Earthman that made him feel so, but he was not too sure. For threemonths he had lived with people who loved, hated, wept and sacrificedfor reasons that he had never known existed. He had learned the headyglory of thinking for himself and making his own decisions. He hadexperienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue againstthe wits of other unpredictable human beings. There was no abruptdivision of men and women into definite classes of endeavor. A laborerthought the same thoughts that a governor might think. Uncertaintyadded zest to every day's life. The Orthan had come to question the sole devotion of the individual tothe Horde to the exclusion of all other interests. What, he wondered,would one new world—or a hundred—populated by the Hordes add tothe progress of humanity? For a hundred thousand years the Orthancivilization had remained static, its energies directed into certainwell-defined channels. They were mindless bees maintaining their vastmechanical hives. There was that moment on the brink of the Grand Canyon when Ellen hadcaught his arm breathlessly at all the beauty spread away there beneaththem. There were mornings in the desert when the sun painted in luridred the peaks above the harsh black-and-whites of the sagebrush andcactus slopes. There was the little boy, his body burning with fever,who nestled trustingly against his tense man's body and slept—the sonof Ellen and the man he had destroyed. Thig groaned. He was a weakling to let sentimentality so get the betterof his judgment. He would go now to the space ship and urge them toblast off for Ortha. He sprang off the porch and strode away down theroad toward the beach. The children ran to him; wanted to go along. He sent them away harshlybut they smiled and waved their brown little hands. Ellen came to thedoor and called after him. Hurry home, dear, she said. I'll have a bite ready in about an hour. He dared not say anything, for his voice would have broken and shewould have known something was wrong. She was a very wise sort ofperson when something was troubling him. He waved his stubby paw of ahand to show that he had heard, and blindly hurried toward the Sound. Oddly enough, as he hurried away along the narrow path through theautumn woods, his mind busied itself with a new epic of the west thatlived no longer. He mentally titled it: Rustlers' Riot and blockedin the outlines of his plot. One section of his brain was that of thecareless author of gunslinging yarns, a section that seemed to besapping the life from his own brain. He knew that the story would neverbe written, but he toyed with the idea. So far had Thig the emotionless, robot-being from Ortha drifted fromthe unquestioning worship of the Horde! <doc-sep>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once. I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation. But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort? Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking. Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten. Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha. Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes. The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them. Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet. Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde. No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde. Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered. Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig. <doc-sep>The scales swung in favor of Kam. Slowly the flaring snout of hisweapon tilted upward until it reached the level of Thig's waist. Thigsuddenly released his grip and dragged his enemy toward him. A suddenreversal of pressure on Kam's gun hand sent the weapon swivellingabout full upon its owner's thick torso. Thig's fingers pressed downupon Kam's button finger, down upon the stud set into the grip of thedecomposition blaster, and Kam's muscles turned to water. He shrieked. Before Thig's eyes half of his comrade's body sloughed away into foulcorruption that swiftly gave way to hardened blobs of dessicatedmatter. Horror for what he had done—that he had slain one of his ownHorde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulledfor the moment. Painfully slow, he turned his body around toward thecontrol blister, turned around on leaden feet, to look full into thenarrowed icy eyes of his commander. He saw the heavy barrel of the blaster slashing down against hisskull but he could not swing a fraction of an inch out of the way.His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waitedstupidly for the blow to fall, the end for Ellen and the kids and allthe struggling races of Earth. He would never write another cowboyyarn—they would all be dead anyhow soon. Then a thunderclap exploded against his head and he dropped endlesslytoward the deck. Blows rained against his skull. He wondered if Torpwould ever cease to hammer at him and turn the deadly ray of the weaponupon him. Blood throbbed and pounded with every blow.... <doc-sep>Bam, Bam, Bam, the blood pounded in his ears. Like repeated blows of ahammer they shook his booming head. No longer was Torp above him. Hewas in the corner of the laboratory, a crumpled blood-smeared heap ofbruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked uponhis skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killedhim with those savage blows upon the head. Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of hisancestors at times; but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he nowowed his life. A cool-headed robot of an Orthan would have efficientlyused the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in hisunconscious body. Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the controlroom. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodiesthrough the refuse lock. Already the body of Kam was gone. He wonderedwhy he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take culturesof his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsiblefor his sudden madness. The cases of fragile instruments were just above his head. Associationof memories brought him the flash of the heavy blaster in its rackbeneath them. His hand went up and felt the welcome hardness of theweapon. He tugged it free. In a moment he was on his knees crawling across the plates of the decktoward the door. Halfway across the floor he collapsed on his face,the metal of the gun making a harsh clang. He heard the feet of Torpscuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalledout into a senseless whinny. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black lengthof the blaster in front of him. His eyes sought the doorway and staredfull into the glaring vacant orbs of his commander. Torp leaned therewatching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bittenlips. The clawing marks of nails, fingernails, furrowed his face andchest. He was a madman! The deadly attack of Thig; his own violent avenging of Kam's death, andnow the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had allserved to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove.The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes ofthe Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant madstare set him, too, to gibbering and shrieking. Then he stepped overthe skeleton-thing that had been Torp, using the new strength thatvictory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thoughtsobered him; yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. Afterall, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinkingof while he battled Kam, a selfish desire to protect them all. He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log andread the last few nervously scrawled lines: Planet 72-P-3 unfit for colonization. Some pernicious disease thatstrikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existentthere. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad anddestroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended.Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for theplanet Ortha. Unless a rogue asteroid or a comet crossed the ship'spath she would return safely to Ortha with that mute warning of dangeron 72-P-3. The body of Torp would help to confirm his final message. Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one ofa half-dozen space ships in miniature nested within the great ship'shull, and cut free from the mother vessel. He flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of the rockets drivinghim from the parent ship. The sensation of free flight against his newbody was strangely exhilerating and heady. It was the newest of theemotions he had experienced on Earth since that day, so many monthsbefore, when he had felt the warmness of Ellen's lips tight against his. Thig flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of therockets driving him from the parent ship. He swung about to the port, watched the flaming drive-rockets of thegreat exploratory ship hurl it toward far-away Ortha, and there was noregret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his firstexistence. He thought of the dull greys and blacks of his planet, of themonotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heartthrilled to the memories of the starry nights and perfect exciting dayshe had spent on his three month trip over Earth. He made a brief salute to the existence he had known, turned with atiny sigh, and his fingers made brief adjustments in the controls. Therocket-thrum deepened, and the thin whistle of tenuous air clutchingthe ship echoed through the hull-plates. He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched theroundness of Earth flatten out, then take on the cup-like illusionthat all planets had for an incoming ship. He reduced the drive of hisrockets to a mere whisper, striving to control the impatience thatcrowded his mind. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first timehe had sent a space ship whipping down toward the hills and valleysbelow. And there was a sickness within him when he fully realized that,despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outerspace. He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slightdifferences in his appearance from an Earthman's, and his fingerstrembled a bit, as he bent and stared through the vision port. He saida brief prayer in his heart to a God whose presence he now felt verydeeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memorieswere hot, bitter pains. <doc-sep>Earth was not far below him. As he let gravity suck him earthward, heheaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde'screation, but Lewis Terry, writer of lurid gun-smoking tales of theWest. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry andnow, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would bea knife twisting in his heart but for her sake he must endure it. Herdreams and happiness must never be shattered. The bulge of Earth was flattening out now and he could see the outlinesof Long Island in the growing twilight. A new plot was growing in the brain of Lewis Terry, a yarn about acowboy suddenly transported to another world. He smiled ironically.He had seen those other worlds. Perhaps some day he would write aboutthem.... He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do the ways of Ortha differ from those Thig discovers on Earth?

The society on Ortha has discarded what they consider to be primal or barbaric tendencies and customs. Their children are raised in laboratories never knowing their parents and are not shown love or affection. They are taught to value loyalty to the Orthan “Hordes” over everything, and to believe that they are entitled to anything in the universe that they desire, with no regard to those outside the Hordes. They don’t have mates or have sex, though they do walk around naked. Free thought and primal urges are discouraged, and Orthan society has attempted to filter out any behavior they consider to be barbaric in favor of a robotic, obedient populace. By contrast, Thig discovers that humans feel the full gamut of emotions, think for themselves, and feel empathy rather than the dispassionate callousness Ortha demands.

Who is Ellen and how does she affect Thig and his choices? [SEP] <s> QUEST OF THIG By BASIL WELLS Thig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering HORDE. He had blasted across trackless space to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on Earth emotions that were more deadly than weapons. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beachover the metal lid of the flexible ringed tunnel that linked the grubbyship from another planet with the upper air. He looked out across theheaving waters of the Sound toward Connecticut. He stared appraisinglyaround at the luxuriant green growth of foliage further inland; andstarted toward the little stretch of trees and brush, walking carefullybecause of the lesser gravitation. Thig was shorter than the average Earthman—although on Ortha hewas well above the average in height—but his body was thick andpowerfully muscled. His skull was well-shaped and large; his featureswere regular, perhaps a trifle oversize, and his hair and eyes werea curiously matching blend of reddish brown. Oddest of all, he woreno garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support hisrod-like weapon of white metal and his pouches for food and specimens. The Orthan entered the narrow strip of trees and crossed to thelittle-used highway on the other side. Here he patiently sat down towait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was tobring a native, intact if possible, back to the carefully buried spacecruiser where his two fellows and himself would drain the creature'smentality of all its knowledge. In this way they could learn whether aplanet was suited for colonization by later swarms of Orthans. Already they had charted over a hundred celestial bodies but of themall only three had proven worthy of consideration. This latest planet,however, 72-P-3 on the chart, appeared to be an ideal world in everyrespect. Sunlight, plenty of water and a dense atmospheric envelopemade of 72-P-3 a paradise among planets. The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of aleafy shrub. A creature was approaching. Its squat body was coveredwith baggy strips of bluish cloth and it carried a jointed rod of metaland wood in its paw. It walked upright as did the men of Ortha. Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing'sstupid face. It was as though he was looking into a bit of polishedmetal at the reflection of himself! The Earthman was opposite now and he must waste no more precioustime. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across theintervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clampedacross the mouth and neck of the stranger.... <doc-sep>Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that hadground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigiddesolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he wasgoing stale. He had sat every day for eight hours in front of thatshiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feeblyhe had punched a key two days ago and a $ sign had appeared. He hadn'tdared touch the machine since. For Mr. Terry, that hard-hitting writer of two-gun action, had neverbeen further west of Long Island than Elizabeth, and he had promisedhis wife, Ellen, that he would take the three children and herself ona trailer tour of the West that very summer. Since that promise, hecould not write a word. Visions of whooping red-skinned Apaches andbe-chapped outlaws raiding his little trailer home kept rolling up outof his subconscious. Yet he had to write at least three novelets anda fistful of short stories in the next two weeks to finance the greatadventure—or the trip was off. So Lewis left the weathered old cottage in the early dawn and headedfor his tubby old boat at the landing in an attempt to work out asalable yarn.... Hey! he shouted as a naked man sprang out of the bushes beside theroad. What's the trouble? Then he had no time for further speech, the massive arms of thestranger had wound around him and two hamlike hands shut off his speechand his wind. He fought futilely against trained muscles. The handclamping his throat relaxed for a moment and hacked along the side ofhis head. Blackness flooded the brain of Lewis, and he knew no more. <doc-sep>There it is, announced Thig, dropping the limp body of the capturedEarthman to the metal deck-plates. It is a male of the species thatmust have built the cities we saw as we landed. He resembles Thig, announced Kam. But for the strange covering hewears he might be Thig. Thig will be this creature! announced Torp. With a psychic relay wewill transfer the Earthman's memories and meager store of knowledge tothe brain of Thig! He can then go out and scout this world withoutarousing suspicion. While he is gone, I will take Kam and explore thetwo inner planets. You are the commander, said Thig. But I wish this beast did not wearthese clumsy sheathing upon his body. On Ortha we do not hamper the useof our limbs so. Do not question the word of your commander, growled Torp, swellingout his thick chest menacingly. It is for the good of our people thatyou disguise yourself as an Earthman. For the good of the Horde, Thig intoned almost piously as he liftedTerry's body and headed for the laboratory. Service for the Horde was all that the men of Ortha knew. Carefullycultured and brought to life in the laboratories of their Horde, theyknew neither father nor mother. Affection and love were entirelylacking in their early training and later life. They were trainedantlike from childhood that only the growth and power of the Hordewere of any moment. Men and women alike toiled and died like unfeelingrobots of flesh and bone for the Horde. The Horde was their religion,their love-life, their everything! So it was that the bodies of the Earthman and the Orthan were strappedon two parallel tables of chill metal and the twin helmets, linked toone another by the intricacies of the psychic relay, put upon theirheads. For ten hours or more the droning hum of the relay sucked Terry's braindry of knowledge. The shock upon the nervous system of the Earthmanproved too violent and his heart faltered after a time and stoppedcompletely. Twice, with subtle drugs they restored pseudo-life to hisbody and kept the electrical impulses throbbing from his torturedbrain, but after the third suspension of life Thig removed his helmet. There is nothing more to learn, he informed his impassive comrades.Now, let us get on with the plastic surgery that is required. My newbody must return to its barbaric household before undue attention isaroused. And when I return I will take along some of the gleamingbaubles we found on the red planet—these people value them highly. An hour later, his scars and altered cartilage already healed andpainless, Thig again scraped sand over the entrance to the space shipand set out along the moonlit beach toward the nearest path runninginland to his home. Memory was laying the country bare about him, Terry's own childhoodmemories of this particular section of Long Island. Here was the placewhere Jake and Ted had helped him dig for the buried treasure thatold 'Notch-ear' Beggs had told them so exactly about. Remembrance ofthat episode gave Thig an idea about the little lump of jewels in hispocket. He had found them in a chest along the beach! He was coming up on the porch now and at the sound of his foot onthe sagging boards the screen door burst open and three littleEarth-creatures were hugging at his legs. An odd sensation, that hisacquired memories labeled as pleasure, sent a warm glow upward fromaround his heart. Then he saw the slender red-haired shape of a woman, the mate of thedead man he knew, and confusion struck his well-trained brain. Menhad no mates on Ortha, sex had been overthrown with all the otherprimitive impulses of barbarism; so he was incapable of understandingthe emotions that swept through his acquired memory. Unsteadily he took her in his arms and felt her warm lips pressed,trembling, against his own. That same hot wave of pulsing blood chokedachingly up into his throat. Lew, dear, Ellen was asking, where have you been all day? I calledup at the landing but you were not there. I wanted to let you know thatSaddlebag Publications sent a check for $50 for Reversed Revolversand three other editors asked for shorts soon. <doc-sep>Shoulda got a hundred bucks for that yarn, grunted Thig, and gasped. For the moment he had been Lewis Terry and not Thig! So thoroughly hadhe acquired the knowledge of Terry that he found himself unconsciouslyadopting the thinking and mannerism of the other. All the better thisway, he realized—more natural. Sorry I was late, he said, digging into his pocket for theglittering baubles, but I was poking around on the beach where we usedto hunt treasure and I found an old chest. Inside it I found nothingbut a handful of these. He flashed the jewels in front of Ellen's startled eyes and she clung,unbelieving, to his arm. Why, Lew, she gasped, they're worth a fortune! We can buy that newtrailer now and have a rebuilt motor in the car. We can go west rightaway.... Hollywood, the Grand Canyon, cowboys! Uh huh, agreed the pseudo Lewis, memories of the ferocious savagesand gunmen of his stories rendering him acutely unhappy. Sincerely hehoped that the west had reformed. I saved some kraut and weiners, Ellen said. Get washed up while I'mwarming them up. Kids ate all the bread so I had to borrow some fromthe Eskoes. Want coffee, too? Mmmmmm, came from the depths of the chipped white wash-basin. <doc-sep>Home again, whispered Ellen as she stood beside Thig twelve weekslater and gazed tearfully at the weathered little gray house. She kneltbeside the front stoop and reached for the key hidden beneath it. The west was wonderful; tremendous, vast and beautiful, she wenton as they climbed the steps, but nowhere was there any place asbeautiful as our own little strip of sky and water. Thig sank into a dusty old swing that hung on creaking chains from theexposed rafters of the porch roof. He looked down at the dusty gray carand the bulbous silvery bulk of the trailer that had been their livingquarters for almost three months. Strange thoughts were afloat in thechaos of his cool Orthan brain. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest he must contact his two fellowsand report that Earth was a planetary paradise. No other world,including Ortha, was so well-favored and rich. An expeditionary forceto wipe the grotesque civilizations of Earth out of existence would,of course, be necessary before the first units of new Hordes could belanded. And there Thig balked. Why must they destroy these people,imperfect though their civilization might be, to make room for theHordes? Thig tried to tell himself that it was the transmitted thoughts of thedead Earthman that made him feel so, but he was not too sure. For threemonths he had lived with people who loved, hated, wept and sacrificedfor reasons that he had never known existed. He had learned the headyglory of thinking for himself and making his own decisions. He hadexperienced the primitive joy of matching his wits and tongue againstthe wits of other unpredictable human beings. There was no abruptdivision of men and women into definite classes of endeavor. A laborerthought the same thoughts that a governor might think. Uncertaintyadded zest to every day's life. The Orthan had come to question the sole devotion of the individual tothe Horde to the exclusion of all other interests. What, he wondered,would one new world—or a hundred—populated by the Hordes add tothe progress of humanity? For a hundred thousand years the Orthancivilization had remained static, its energies directed into certainwell-defined channels. They were mindless bees maintaining their vastmechanical hives. There was that moment on the brink of the Grand Canyon when Ellen hadcaught his arm breathlessly at all the beauty spread away there beneaththem. There were mornings in the desert when the sun painted in luridred the peaks above the harsh black-and-whites of the sagebrush andcactus slopes. There was the little boy, his body burning with fever,who nestled trustingly against his tense man's body and slept—the sonof Ellen and the man he had destroyed. Thig groaned. He was a weakling to let sentimentality so get the betterof his judgment. He would go now to the space ship and urge them toblast off for Ortha. He sprang off the porch and strode away down theroad toward the beach. The children ran to him; wanted to go along. He sent them away harshlybut they smiled and waved their brown little hands. Ellen came to thedoor and called after him. Hurry home, dear, she said. I'll have a bite ready in about an hour. He dared not say anything, for his voice would have broken and shewould have known something was wrong. She was a very wise sort ofperson when something was troubling him. He waved his stubby paw of ahand to show that he had heard, and blindly hurried toward the Sound. Oddly enough, as he hurried away along the narrow path through theautumn woods, his mind busied itself with a new epic of the west thatlived no longer. He mentally titled it: Rustlers' Riot and blockedin the outlines of his plot. One section of his brain was that of thecareless author of gunslinging yarns, a section that seemed to besapping the life from his own brain. He knew that the story would neverbe written, but he toyed with the idea. So far had Thig the emotionless, robot-being from Ortha drifted fromthe unquestioning worship of the Horde! <doc-sep>You have done well, announced Torp when Thig had completed his reporton the resources and temperatures of various sections of Terra. We nowhave located three worlds fit for colonization and so we will return toOrtha at once. I will recommend the conquest of this planet, 72-P-3 at once and thecomplete destruction of all biped life upon it. The mental aberrationsof the barbaric natives might lead to endless complications if theywere permitted to exist outside our ordered way of life. I imagine thatthree circuits of the planet about its primary should prove sufficientfor the purposes of complete liquidation. But why, asked Thig slowly, could we not disarm all the natives andexile them on one of the less desirable continents, Antarctica forexample or Siberia? They are primitive humans even as our race was oncea race of primitives. It is not our duty to help to attain our owndegree of knowledge and comfort? Only the good of the Horde matters! shouted Torp angrily. Shall arace of feeble-witted beasts, such as these Earthmen, stand in the wayof a superior race? We want their world, and so we will take it. TheLaw of the Horde states that all the universe is ours for the taking. Let us get back to Ortha at once, then, gritted out Thig savagely.Never again do I wish to set foot upon the soil of this mad planet.There are forces at work upon Earth that we of Ortha have longforgotten. Check the blood of Thig for disease, Kam, ordered Torp shortly. Hiswords are highly irrational. Some form of fever perhaps native to thisworld. While you examine him I will blast off for Ortha. Thig followed Kam into the tiny laboratory and found a seat beside thesquat scientist's desk. His eyes roamed over the familiar instrumentsand gauges, each in its own precise position in the cases along thewalls. His gaze lingered longest on the stubby black ugliness ofa decomposition blaster in its rack close to the deck. A blast ofthe invisible radiations from that weapon's hot throat and flesh orvegetable fiber rotted into flaky ashes. The ship trembled beneath their feet; it tore free from the feebleclutch of the sand about it, and they were rocketing skyward. Thig'sbroad fingers bit deep into the unyielding metal of his chair. Suddenlyhe knew that he must go back to Earth, back to Ellen and the childrenof the man he had helped destroy. He loved Ellen, and nothing muststand between them! The Hordes of Ortha must find some other world, anempty world—this planet was not for them. Turn back! he cried wildly. I must go back to Earth. There is awoman there, helpless and alone, who needs me! The Horde does not needthis planet. Kam eyed him coldly and lifted a shining hypodermic syringe from itscase. He approached Thig warily, aware that disease often made a maniacof the finest members of the Horde. No human being is more important than the Horde, he stated baldly.This woman of whom you speak is merely one unit of the millions wemust eliminate for the good of the Horde. Then it was that Thig went berserk. His fists slashed into the thickjaw of the scientist and his fingers ripped at the hard cords overlyingthe Orthan's vital throat tubes. His fingers and thumb gouged deep intoKam's startled throat and choked off any cry for assistance before itcould be uttered. Kam's hand swept down to the holster swung from his intricate harnessand dragged his blaster from it. Thig's other hand clamped over his andfor long moments they swayed there, locked together in silent deadlystruggle. The fate of a world hung in the balance as Kam's other handfought against that lone arm of Thig. <doc-sep>The scales swung in favor of Kam. Slowly the flaring snout of hisweapon tilted upward until it reached the level of Thig's waist. Thigsuddenly released his grip and dragged his enemy toward him. A suddenreversal of pressure on Kam's gun hand sent the weapon swivellingabout full upon its owner's thick torso. Thig's fingers pressed downupon Kam's button finger, down upon the stud set into the grip of thedecomposition blaster, and Kam's muscles turned to water. He shrieked. Before Thig's eyes half of his comrade's body sloughed away into foulcorruption that swiftly gave way to hardened blobs of dessicatedmatter. Horror for what he had done—that he had slain one of his ownHorde—made his limbs move woodenly. All of his thoughts were dulledfor the moment. Painfully slow, he turned his body around toward thecontrol blister, turned around on leaden feet, to look full into thenarrowed icy eyes of his commander. He saw the heavy barrel of the blaster slashing down against hisskull but he could not swing a fraction of an inch out of the way.His body seemed paralyzed. This was the end, he thought as he waitedstupidly for the blow to fall, the end for Ellen and the kids and allthe struggling races of Earth. He would never write another cowboyyarn—they would all be dead anyhow soon. Then a thunderclap exploded against his head and he dropped endlesslytoward the deck. Blows rained against his skull. He wondered if Torpwould ever cease to hammer at him and turn the deadly ray of the weaponupon him. Blood throbbed and pounded with every blow.... <doc-sep>Bam, Bam, Bam, the blood pounded in his ears. Like repeated blows of ahammer they shook his booming head. No longer was Torp above him. Hewas in the corner of the laboratory, a crumpled blood-smeared heap ofbruised flesh and bone. He was unfettered and the blood was caked uponhis skull and in his matted hair. Torp must have thought he had killedhim with those savage blows upon the head. Even Torp, thought Thig ruefully, gave way to the primitive rage of hisancestors at times; but to that very bit of unconscious atavism he nowowed his life. A cool-headed robot of an Orthan would have efficientlyused the blaster to destroy any possibility of remaining life in hisunconscious body. Thig rolled slowly over so that his eye found the door into the controlroom. Torp would be coming back again to dispose of their bodiesthrough the refuse lock. Already the body of Kam was gone. He wonderedwhy he had been left until last. Perhaps Torp wished to take culturesof his blood and tissues to determine whether a disease was responsiblefor his sudden madness. The cases of fragile instruments were just above his head. Associationof memories brought him the flash of the heavy blaster in its rackbeneath them. His hand went up and felt the welcome hardness of theweapon. He tugged it free. In a moment he was on his knees crawling across the plates of the decktoward the door. Halfway across the floor he collapsed on his face,the metal of the gun making a harsh clang. He heard the feet of Torpscuffle out of silence and a choked cry in the man's throat squalledout into a senseless whinny. Thig raised himself up on a quivering elbow and slid the black lengthof the blaster in front of him. His eyes sought the doorway and staredfull into the glaring vacant orbs of his commander. Torp leaned therewatching him, his breath gurgling brokenly through his deep-bittenlips. The clawing marks of nails, fingernails, furrowed his face andchest. He was a madman! The deadly attack of Thig; his own violent avenging of Kam's death, andnow the apparent return of the man he had killed come to life had allserved to jolt his rigidly trained brain from its accustomed groove.The shock had been too much for the established thought-processes ofthe Orthan. So Thig shot him where he stood, mercifully, before that vacant madstare set him, too, to gibbering and shrieking. Then he stepped overthe skeleton-thing that had been Torp, using the new strength thatvictory had given him to drive him along. He had saved a world's civilization from extinction! The thoughtsobered him; yet, somehow, he was pleased that he had done so. Afterall, it had been the Earthwoman and the children he had been thinkingof while he battled Kam, a selfish desire to protect them all. He went to the desk where Torp had been writing in the ship's log andread the last few nervously scrawled lines: Planet 72-P-3 unfit for colonization. Some pernicious disease thatstrikes at the brain centers and causes violent insanity is existentthere. Thig, just returned from a survey of the planet, went mad anddestroyed Kam. In turn I was forced to slay him. But it is not ended.Already I feel the insidious virus of.... And there his writing ended abruptly. Thig nodded. That would do it. He set the automatic pilot for theplanet Ortha. Unless a rogue asteroid or a comet crossed the ship'spath she would return safely to Ortha with that mute warning of dangeron 72-P-3. The body of Torp would help to confirm his final message. Then Thig crossed the cabin to the auxiliary life boat there, one ofa half-dozen space ships in miniature nested within the great ship'shull, and cut free from the mother vessel. He flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of the rockets drivinghim from the parent ship. The sensation of free flight against his newbody was strangely exhilerating and heady. It was the newest of theemotions he had experienced on Earth since that day, so many monthsbefore, when he had felt the warmness of Ellen's lips tight against his. Thig flipped the drive lever, felt the thrumming of therockets driving him from the parent ship. He swung about to the port, watched the flaming drive-rockets of thegreat exploratory ship hurl it toward far-away Ortha, and there was noregret in his mind that he was not returning to the planet of his firstexistence. He thought of the dull greys and blacks of his planet, of themonotonous routine of existence that had once been his—and his heartthrilled to the memories of the starry nights and perfect exciting dayshe had spent on his three month trip over Earth. He made a brief salute to the existence he had known, turned with atiny sigh, and his fingers made brief adjustments in the controls. Therocket-thrum deepened, and the thin whistle of tenuous air clutchingthe ship echoed through the hull-plates. He thought of many things in those few moments. He watched theroundness of Earth flatten out, then take on the cup-like illusionthat all planets had for an incoming ship. He reduced the drive of hisrockets to a mere whisper, striving to control the impatience thatcrowded his mind. He shivered suddenly, remembering his utter callousness the first timehe had sent a space ship whipping down toward the hills and valleysbelow. And there was a sickness within him when he fully realized that,despite his acquired memory and traits, he was an alien from outerspace. He fingered the tiny scars that had completely obliterated the slightdifferences in his appearance from an Earthman's, and his fingerstrembled a bit, as he bent and stared through the vision port. He saida brief prayer in his heart to a God whose presence he now felt verydeeply. There were tears in the depths of his eyes, then, and memorieswere hot, bitter pains. <doc-sep>Earth was not far below him. As he let gravity suck him earthward, heheaved a gasp of relief. He was no longer Thig, a creature of a Horde'screation, but Lewis Terry, writer of lurid gun-smoking tales of theWest. He must remember that always. He had destroyed the real Terry andnow, for the rest of his life, he must make up to the dead man's family. The knowledge that Ellen's love was not really meant for him would bea knife twisting in his heart but for her sake he must endure it. Herdreams and happiness must never be shattered. The bulge of Earth was flattening out now and he could see the outlinesof Long Island in the growing twilight. A new plot was growing in the brain of Lewis Terry, a yarn about acowboy suddenly transported to another world. He smiled ironically.He had seen those other worlds. Perhaps some day he would write aboutthem.... He was Lewis Terry! He must remember that! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Ellen and how does she affect Thig and his choices?

Ellen is the wife of Lewis Terry, and she is described as slender with red hair. When Thig assumes Terry’s identity, some of the first sensations he experiences result from Ellen kissing him. On their travels throughout the American West, Thig bonds with her and with her children. He learns to understand new experiences and emotions throughout his time with Ellen, and he observes that she seems to know how he’s feeling without him telling her. When Thig ultimately realizes that he wants to go back to Earth, it is because he loves Ellen and wants to save her and humanity. It is Ellen he thinks about as he returns to Earth and feels the sting of regret that he killed her husband, and decides to spend the rest of her life making it up to her.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> GRIFTERS' ASTEROID By H. L. GOLD Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought! Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them five buckos for a glass of water—and got it! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, withno dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of landthat had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontificallyinto the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—histall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing somethingincoherent. They met in the doorway, violently. We're delirious! Joe cried. It's a mirage! What is? asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton. Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,speechless for once. In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panaceapurveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never hadthey seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon. Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in twohands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in theremaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpishHarvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering thisimpossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruitjuice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously. Nonsense, Harvey croaked uncertainly. We have seen enough queerthings to know there are always more. He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:Water—quick! Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought outtwo glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, askedfor more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartenderhad taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey. Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water sofast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender'simpersonal eyes studying them shrewdly. Strangers, eh? he asked at last. Solar salesmen, my colonial friend, Harvey answered in his usuallush manner. We purvey that renowned Martian remedy, La-anagoYergis , the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves inthe ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous inproclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire historyof therapeutics. Yeah? said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaserglasses without washing them. Where you heading? Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gonewithout water for five ghastly days. Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port? Joe asked. We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't landhere unless they're in trouble. Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off. Mayor takes care of that, replied the saloon owner. If you gents'refinished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos. Harvey grinned puzzledly. We didn't take any whiskey. Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with everychaser. Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. That—that's robbery! the lanky manmanaged to get out in a thin quaver. The barkeeper shrugged. When there ain't many customers, you gottamake more on each one. Besides— Besides nothing! Joe roared, finding his voice again. You dirtycrook—robbing poor spacemen! You— You dirty crook! Joe roared. Robbing honest spacemen! Harvey nudged him warningly. Easy, my boy, easy. He turned to thebartender apologetically. Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands aresometimes overactive. You were going to say—? <doc-sep>The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression. Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em, he said,shaking his head. Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitteras some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in withbuckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—Iwas chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I chargebecause I gotta. Friend, said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eightfive-bucko bills, here is your money. What's fair is fair, and youhave put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be anunconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man'sthirst. The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar. If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss fillingyour tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, officialrecorder, fire chief.... And chief of police, no doubt, said Harvey jocosely. Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here justcall me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water willyou need? Joe estimated quickly. About seventy-five liters, if we go on halfrations, he answered. He waited apprehensively. Let's say ten buckos a liter, the mayor said. On account of thequantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts memore to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,that's all. The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks withthem. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intentlywatched the crude level-gauge, crying Stop! when it registered theproper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger andwetted his lips expectantly. Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: But what are we todo about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would bepreposterous. We simply can't afford it. Johnson's response almost floored them. Who said anything aboutcharging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.It's just the purified stuff that comes so high. After giving them directions that would take them to the free-waterpool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headedback to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside. Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague? said Harvey as he and Joepicked up buckets that hung on the tank. Johnson, as I saw instantly,is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly. Just the same, Joe griped, paying for water isn't something you canget used to in ten minutes. In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang fromthe igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled theirbuckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more. <doc-sep>It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine ona bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko signin front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keepinga faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went toinvestigate. Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender moundthat was unmistakably a buried pipe. What's this doing here? Harvey asked, puzzled. I thought Johnson hadto transport water in pails. Wonder where it leads to, Joe said uneasily. It leads to the saloon, said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing thepipe back toward the spaceport. What I am concerned with is where itleads from . Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion ofscrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burstinto the open—before a clear, sparkling pool. Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water. I am growing suspicious, he said in a rigidly controlled voice. But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water andtasting it. Sweet! he snarled. They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.His mouth went wry. Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! Theonly thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor'sconscience. The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on, saidHarvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. Joseph, the good-natured artist inme has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until wehave had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from thispoint hence. Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door theystopped and their fists unclenched. Thought you gents were leaving, the mayor called out, seeing themfrozen in the doorway. Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City. You don't need any more, said Harvey, dismayed. Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hairand held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously beenborn and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would havekept him down near the general dimensions of a man. He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his ownhand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again whenhis fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressedone. Pleased to meet you, piped a voice that had never known a denseatmosphere. The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick andunpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for.... Joseph! he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. Don't youfeel well? Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes weregently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his featuresdrooping like a bloodhound's. Bring him in here! Johnson cried. I mean, get him away! He's comingdown with asteroid fever! Of course, replied Harvey calmly. Any fool knows the first symptomsof the disease that once scourged the universe. What do you mean, once ? demanded Johnson. I come down with itevery year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get himout of here! In good time. He can't be moved immediately. Then he'll be here for months! Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor andhis gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathein tiny, uncontaminating gasps. You'll find everything you want in the back room, Johnson saidfrantically, sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suctioncups— Relics of the past, Harvey stated. One medication is all modern manrequires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever. What's that? asked the mayor without conviction. Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-handrocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within afew minutes, carrying a bottle. <doc-sep>Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowlycrossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partnerdrink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back andwaited for the inevitable result. Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for severalmoments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomedto perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his featuresstraightened out. Are—are you all right? asked the mayor anxiously. Much better, said Joe in a weak voice. Maybe you need another dose, Harvey suggested. Joe recoiled. I'm fine now! he cried, and sprang off the bar to proveit. Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse. Well, I'll be hanged! Johnson ejaculated. La-anago Yergis never fails, my friend, Harvey explained. Byactual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-threeminutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caughtthis one before it grew formidable. The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. If youdon't charge too much, he said warily, I might think of buying some. We do not sell this unbelievable remedy, Harvey replied with dignity.It sells itself. 'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a wholecase, said Johnson. That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared withthe vast loss of time and strength the fever involves. How much? asked the mayor unhappily. For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundredbuckos. Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression ofdoing so. F-four hundred, he offered. Not a red cent less than four seventy-five, Harvey said flatly. Make it four fifty, quavered Johnson. I dislike haggling, said Harvey. The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos andfifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: And we will include, gratis , an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurianhandicraftsmanship. Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. No tricks now. I want a taste ofthat stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me. Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. Themayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuingminute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle whichthe man gradually won. There ain't no words for that taste, he gulped when it was safe totalk again. Medicine, Harvey propounded, should taste like medicine. To Joe hesaid: Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task towhich we have dedicated ourselves. With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed theclearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe droppedhis murderous silence and cried: What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of thatsnake oil? That was not poison, Harvey contradicted quietly. It was La-anagoYergis extract, plus. Plus what—arsenic? Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufactureour specific for all known ailments, with the intention of sellingyonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had beenswindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit havebeen, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course. But why use it on me? Joe demanded furiously. Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. Did Johnson ask totaste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to producethe same medicine that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were aguinea pig for a splendid cause. Okay, okay, Joe said. But you shoulda charged him more. Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of whichthat swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables hepossesses. We could not be content with less. Well, we're starting all right, admitted Joe. How about that thingwith six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off? Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively. I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with ourstreamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolicsuckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on theaudio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendousfigure to the zoo! <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged. That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now. Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship. H-mph! the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality. Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge. Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price. Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone. Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly. Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host. Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room. He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company. Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents? Quite, said Harvey. We shall order. For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian viotars , using his other twohands for waiting on the table. We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire. Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right. But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents. The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion. It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents. As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror. What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos ! <doc-sep>Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirtyfingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu. Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty withrage. The minute note read: Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80redsents. You can go to hell! Joe growled. We won't pay it! Johnson sighed ponderously. I was afraid you'd act like that, he saidwith regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it onhis vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. Afraid I'll have toask the sheriff to take over. Johnson, the sheriff, collected the money, and Johnson, therestaurateur, pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign toremain calm. My friend, he said to the mayor, and his tones took on aschoolmasterish severity, your long absence from Earth has perhapsmade you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered thefolk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is follyto kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is poundfoolish.' I don't get the connection, objected Johnson. Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you putout of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantialdeal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer forthe peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds theway you have— Who said I wanted to sell him? the mayor interrupted. He rubbed hisfingers together and asked disinterestedly: What were you going tooffer, anyhow? It doesn't matter any longer, Harvey said with elaboratecarelessness. Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway. That's right, Johnson came back emphatically. But what would youroffer have been which I would have turned down? Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now? Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable tosell. Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money wouldtempt you! Nope. But how much did you say? Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius! Well, I'll tell you something, said the mayor confidentially. Whenyou've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,you can buy this and that and this and that and— This and that, concluded Joe. We'll give you five hundred buckos. Now, gents! Johnson remonstrated. Why, six hundred would hardly— You haven't left us much money, Harvey put in. The mayor frowned. All right, we'll split the difference. Make itfive-fifty. Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then hestood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensivelyacquired. I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature, he said toJohnson. I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only yourfilial mammoth to keep you company. I sure will, Johnson confessed glumly. I got pretty attached toGenius, and I'm going to miss him something awful. Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing offthe table almost all at once. My friend, he said, we take your only solace, it is true, but in hisplace we can offer something no less amazing and instructive. The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. What is it? heasked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at itsworst and expects nothing better. Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room ofthe ship, Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: You must seethe wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partnerwill soon have it here for your astonishment. Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. Aw, Harv, heprotested, do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we weregetting the key! We must not be selfish, my boy, Harvey said nobly. We have had ourchance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who mighthave more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here. Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out. <doc-sep>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio. Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers. Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device. I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly. Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune. Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears. He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door. Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't saying I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down? Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet. To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio! This what? Johnson blurted out. In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science! The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar. And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension? It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact. The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet. Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language. Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide? Johnson recoiled. No—no, of course not . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details. Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings? Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion. For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life. Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me? For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience. Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty. Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem! Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first? <doc-sep>Harvey turned a knob on the face of the scarred radio. After severalsqueals of spatial figures, a smooth voice began: There are omnious pleajes of moby-hailegs in sonmirand which,howgraismon, are notch to be donfured miss ellasellabell in either orboth hagasanipaj, by all means. This does not refly, on the brotherman, nat or mizzafil saces are denuded by this ossifaligo.... Harvey switched off the set determinedly. Wait a minute! Johnson begged. I almost got it then! I dislike being commercial, said Harvey, but this astounding devicestill belongs to us. Would we not be foolish to let you discover theclue before purchasing the right to do so? The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonizedlonging. How much do you want? he asked unhappily. One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood. Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features,paid with the worst possible grace. Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv? Joeasked. What about the batteries? demanded Johnson with deadly calm. A very small matter, Harvey said airily. You see, we have beenanalyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course,the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last notless than one Terrestrial month, at the very least. What do I do then? Harvey shrugged. Special batteries are required, which I see Josephhas by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of theirkind left in the system, I ask only what they cost—one hundred andninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less. Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near hisgun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted. Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyorscollected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they wereoutside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tenselyto a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying: Oh, you hannaforge are all beasa-taga-sanimort. If you rue amount it,how do you respench a pure woman to ansver go-samak— I'll get it! they heard Johnson mutter. Then the sound of giant feet crossing the barroom floor reached theirears, and a shrill question: What's that, Papa? A fortune, Jed! Those fakers are damned fools, selling us a thinglike— Joe gazed at Harvey admiringly. Another one sold? Harv, that spielpulls them in like an ether storm! Together with the remarkable planetoid man, they reached the ship.Above them, dark, tumbling shapes blotted out the stars and silentlymoved on. Joe opened the gangway door. Come on in, pal, he said to Genius. We're shoving off. The planetoid man grinned foolishly. Can't go arong with you, he saidwith an apologetic manner. I rike to, but pressure fratten me out if Igo. What in solar blazes are you talking about? Harvey asked. I grow up on pranetoid, Genius explained. On big pranet, too muchpressure for me. The two salesmen looked narrowly at each other. Did Johnson know that when he sold you? Joe snarled. Oh, sure. The silly grin became wider than ever. Peopre from Earthbuy me rots of times. I never reave pranetoid, though. Joseph, Harvey said ominously, that slick colonist has put one overupon us. What is our customary procedure in that event? We tear him apart, Joe replied between his teeth. Not Mister Johnson, advised Genius. Have gun and badge. He shoot youfirst and then rock you up in prison. Harvey paused, his ominous air vanishing. True. There is also thefact, Joseph, that when he discovers the scrambled rectifier inthe radio we sold him, he will have been paid back in full for hisregrettable dishonesty. <doc-sep>Unwillingly, Joe agreed. While Genius retreated to a safe distance,they entered the ship and blasted off. Within a few minutes theautomatic steering pilot had maneuvered them above the plane of theasteroid belt. I got kind of dizzy, Joe said, there were so many deals back andforth. How much did we make on the sucker? A goodly amount, I wager, Harvey responded. He took out a pencil andpaper. Medicine, 469.50; radio, 1,000; batteries, 199. Total—let'ssee—1668 buckos and 50 redsents. A goodly sum, as I told you. He emptied his pockets of money, spread it out on the astrogation tableand began counting. Finished, he looked up, troubled. How much did we have when we landed, Joseph? Exactly 1668 buckos, Joe answered promptly. I can't understand it, said Harvey. Instead of double our capital,we now have only 1668 buckos and 50 redsents! Feverishly, he returned to his pencil and paper. Drinking water, 790; battery water, free; meal, 328; planetoid man,550. Total: 1668 buckos! He stared at the figures. We paid out almostas much as we took in, he said bitterly. Despite our intensiveefforts, we made the absurd sum of fifty redsents. Why, the dirty crook! Joe growled. But after a few moments of sad reflection, Harvey became philosophical.Perhaps, Joseph, we are more fortunate than we realize. We were,after all, completely in Johnson's power. The more I ponder, the moreI believe we were lucky to escape. And, anyhow, we did make fiftyredsents on the swindler. A moral victory, my boy. Joe, who had been sunk desparingly into a chair, now stood up slowlyand asked: Remember that bottle-opener we gave him? Certainly, Harvey explained. What about it? How much did it cost us? Harvey's eyebrows puckered. Suddenly he started laughing. You'reright, Joseph. We paid forty-six redsents for it on Venus. So, afterall that transacting of business, we made four redsents! Four redsents, hell! Joe snapped. That was the sales tax! He glared; then a smile lifted his mouth. You remember those yokels onMars' Flatlands, and the way they worshipped gold? Goldbricks! Harvey said succinctly. Grinning, Joe set the robot-controls for Mars. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Joe and Harvey land on Planetoid 42 and enter a bar. They see Genius, an incredible looking creature with six limbs, and immediately become interested in him. They tell the bartender, Johnson, that they’re very thirsty, so he sells them each eight glasses of water, and they guzzle them down. Harvey and Joe are horrified to find out that the water is highly expensive. Johnson explains that the water must be purified. When the pair leaves, they find a pipe in a small pond and realize that Johnson has undoubtedly swindled them. The sweet water is readily available and it is transported directly to the saloon via this pipe. Harvey and Joe head back to the bar. Joe comes down with a sudden illness, and it’s clear that this is a con the men use all the time. Johnson recognizes that Joe has asteroid fever and becomes frightened. Harvey explains that the only medication that will provide an instant cure is the one they happen to be selling: La-anago Yergis.Joe is instantly cured once Harvey pours the special liquid into his mouth. Johnson is flabbergasted and wants to purchase an entire case. While in the privacy of their ship, Joe and Harvey discuss their joint desire to purchase Genius. They believe they could make a fortune off of him if they featured him in an exhibit. Johnson accepts the fake solution and informs Harvey and Joe that his restaurant is open. After looking at the menu, the men are astounded at the low prices. However, they soon find out that they have been taken advantage of when they receive a bill for a very large sum of money. They learn that the fine print they missed on the menu explains the charge. When Joe tells Johnson they won’t pay the bill, Johnson reminds them that he is in fact the Sheriff as well as the saloon owner and the mayor. Harvey requests to purchase Genius, and Johnson agrees. In a last ditch effort to recoup some more money, Harvey brings up an invention they have on their ship that Johnson must see. Joe brings back a radio that was supposedly created by a famous doctor. It is special because it broadcasts from the fourth dimension. They convince Johnson that he is the perfect person to make sense of the garbled transmissions. Johnson pays extra for the special batteries it takes.Just as Harvey and Joe make it back to the ship with Genius, the creature informs them that he cannot leave the planet because another planet’s pressure would squish him to death. And yes, he admits, Johnson was fully aware of this fact when he sold him. When Harvey does the math involved in the various exchanges of goods, he realizes that after all that time and the several cons they engaged in, he and Joe made a measly four cents. The men take off on their ship and head to Mars.

Describe the relationship between Harvey and Joe. [SEP] <s> GRIFTERS' ASTEROID By H. L. GOLD Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought! Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them five buckos for a glass of water—and got it! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, withno dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of landthat had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontificallyinto the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—histall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing somethingincoherent. They met in the doorway, violently. We're delirious! Joe cried. It's a mirage! What is? asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton. Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,speechless for once. In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panaceapurveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never hadthey seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon. Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in twohands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in theremaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpishHarvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering thisimpossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruitjuice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously. Nonsense, Harvey croaked uncertainly. We have seen enough queerthings to know there are always more. He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:Water—quick! Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought outtwo glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, askedfor more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartenderhad taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey. Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water sofast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender'simpersonal eyes studying them shrewdly. Strangers, eh? he asked at last. Solar salesmen, my colonial friend, Harvey answered in his usuallush manner. We purvey that renowned Martian remedy, La-anagoYergis , the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves inthe ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous inproclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire historyof therapeutics. Yeah? said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaserglasses without washing them. Where you heading? Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gonewithout water for five ghastly days. Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port? Joe asked. We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't landhere unless they're in trouble. Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off. Mayor takes care of that, replied the saloon owner. If you gents'refinished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos. Harvey grinned puzzledly. We didn't take any whiskey. Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with everychaser. Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. That—that's robbery! the lanky manmanaged to get out in a thin quaver. The barkeeper shrugged. When there ain't many customers, you gottamake more on each one. Besides— Besides nothing! Joe roared, finding his voice again. You dirtycrook—robbing poor spacemen! You— You dirty crook! Joe roared. Robbing honest spacemen! Harvey nudged him warningly. Easy, my boy, easy. He turned to thebartender apologetically. Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands aresometimes overactive. You were going to say—? <doc-sep>The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression. Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em, he said,shaking his head. Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitteras some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in withbuckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—Iwas chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I chargebecause I gotta. Friend, said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eightfive-bucko bills, here is your money. What's fair is fair, and youhave put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be anunconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man'sthirst. The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar. If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss fillingyour tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, officialrecorder, fire chief.... And chief of police, no doubt, said Harvey jocosely. Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here justcall me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water willyou need? Joe estimated quickly. About seventy-five liters, if we go on halfrations, he answered. He waited apprehensively. Let's say ten buckos a liter, the mayor said. On account of thequantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts memore to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,that's all. The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks withthem. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intentlywatched the crude level-gauge, crying Stop! when it registered theproper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger andwetted his lips expectantly. Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: But what are we todo about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would bepreposterous. We simply can't afford it. Johnson's response almost floored them. Who said anything aboutcharging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.It's just the purified stuff that comes so high. After giving them directions that would take them to the free-waterpool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headedback to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside. Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague? said Harvey as he and Joepicked up buckets that hung on the tank. Johnson, as I saw instantly,is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly. Just the same, Joe griped, paying for water isn't something you canget used to in ten minutes. In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang fromthe igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled theirbuckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more. <doc-sep>It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine ona bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko signin front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keepinga faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went toinvestigate. Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender moundthat was unmistakably a buried pipe. What's this doing here? Harvey asked, puzzled. I thought Johnson hadto transport water in pails. Wonder where it leads to, Joe said uneasily. It leads to the saloon, said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing thepipe back toward the spaceport. What I am concerned with is where itleads from . Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion ofscrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burstinto the open—before a clear, sparkling pool. Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water. I am growing suspicious, he said in a rigidly controlled voice. But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water andtasting it. Sweet! he snarled. They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.His mouth went wry. Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! Theonly thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor'sconscience. The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on, saidHarvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. Joseph, the good-natured artist inme has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until wehave had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from thispoint hence. Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door theystopped and their fists unclenched. Thought you gents were leaving, the mayor called out, seeing themfrozen in the doorway. Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City. You don't need any more, said Harvey, dismayed. Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hairand held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously beenborn and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would havekept him down near the general dimensions of a man. He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his ownhand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again whenhis fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressedone. Pleased to meet you, piped a voice that had never known a denseatmosphere. The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick andunpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for.... Joseph! he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. Don't youfeel well? Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes weregently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his featuresdrooping like a bloodhound's. Bring him in here! Johnson cried. I mean, get him away! He's comingdown with asteroid fever! Of course, replied Harvey calmly. Any fool knows the first symptomsof the disease that once scourged the universe. What do you mean, once ? demanded Johnson. I come down with itevery year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get himout of here! In good time. He can't be moved immediately. Then he'll be here for months! Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor andhis gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathein tiny, uncontaminating gasps. You'll find everything you want in the back room, Johnson saidfrantically, sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suctioncups— Relics of the past, Harvey stated. One medication is all modern manrequires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever. What's that? asked the mayor without conviction. Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-handrocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within afew minutes, carrying a bottle. <doc-sep>Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowlycrossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partnerdrink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back andwaited for the inevitable result. Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for severalmoments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomedto perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his featuresstraightened out. Are—are you all right? asked the mayor anxiously. Much better, said Joe in a weak voice. Maybe you need another dose, Harvey suggested. Joe recoiled. I'm fine now! he cried, and sprang off the bar to proveit. Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse. Well, I'll be hanged! Johnson ejaculated. La-anago Yergis never fails, my friend, Harvey explained. Byactual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-threeminutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caughtthis one before it grew formidable. The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. If youdon't charge too much, he said warily, I might think of buying some. We do not sell this unbelievable remedy, Harvey replied with dignity.It sells itself. 'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a wholecase, said Johnson. That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared withthe vast loss of time and strength the fever involves. How much? asked the mayor unhappily. For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundredbuckos. Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression ofdoing so. F-four hundred, he offered. Not a red cent less than four seventy-five, Harvey said flatly. Make it four fifty, quavered Johnson. I dislike haggling, said Harvey. The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos andfifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: And we will include, gratis , an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurianhandicraftsmanship. Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. No tricks now. I want a taste ofthat stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me. Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. Themayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuingminute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle whichthe man gradually won. There ain't no words for that taste, he gulped when it was safe totalk again. Medicine, Harvey propounded, should taste like medicine. To Joe hesaid: Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task towhich we have dedicated ourselves. With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed theclearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe droppedhis murderous silence and cried: What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of thatsnake oil? That was not poison, Harvey contradicted quietly. It was La-anagoYergis extract, plus. Plus what—arsenic? Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufactureour specific for all known ailments, with the intention of sellingyonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had beenswindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit havebeen, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course. But why use it on me? Joe demanded furiously. Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. Did Johnson ask totaste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to producethe same medicine that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were aguinea pig for a splendid cause. Okay, okay, Joe said. But you shoulda charged him more. Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of whichthat swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables hepossesses. We could not be content with less. Well, we're starting all right, admitted Joe. How about that thingwith six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off? Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively. I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with ourstreamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolicsuckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on theaudio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendousfigure to the zoo! <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged. That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now. Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship. H-mph! the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality. Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge. Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price. Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone. Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly. Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host. Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room. He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company. Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents? Quite, said Harvey. We shall order. For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian viotars , using his other twohands for waiting on the table. We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire. Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right. But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents. The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion. It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents. As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror. What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos ! <doc-sep>Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirtyfingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu. Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty withrage. The minute note read: Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80redsents. You can go to hell! Joe growled. We won't pay it! Johnson sighed ponderously. I was afraid you'd act like that, he saidwith regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it onhis vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. Afraid I'll have toask the sheriff to take over. Johnson, the sheriff, collected the money, and Johnson, therestaurateur, pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign toremain calm. My friend, he said to the mayor, and his tones took on aschoolmasterish severity, your long absence from Earth has perhapsmade you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered thefolk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is follyto kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is poundfoolish.' I don't get the connection, objected Johnson. Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you putout of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantialdeal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer forthe peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds theway you have— Who said I wanted to sell him? the mayor interrupted. He rubbed hisfingers together and asked disinterestedly: What were you going tooffer, anyhow? It doesn't matter any longer, Harvey said with elaboratecarelessness. Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway. That's right, Johnson came back emphatically. But what would youroffer have been which I would have turned down? Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now? Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable tosell. Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money wouldtempt you! Nope. But how much did you say? Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius! Well, I'll tell you something, said the mayor confidentially. Whenyou've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,you can buy this and that and this and that and— This and that, concluded Joe. We'll give you five hundred buckos. Now, gents! Johnson remonstrated. Why, six hundred would hardly— You haven't left us much money, Harvey put in. The mayor frowned. All right, we'll split the difference. Make itfive-fifty. Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then hestood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensivelyacquired. I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature, he said toJohnson. I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only yourfilial mammoth to keep you company. I sure will, Johnson confessed glumly. I got pretty attached toGenius, and I'm going to miss him something awful. Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing offthe table almost all at once. My friend, he said, we take your only solace, it is true, but in hisplace we can offer something no less amazing and instructive. The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. What is it? heasked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at itsworst and expects nothing better. Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room ofthe ship, Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: You must seethe wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partnerwill soon have it here for your astonishment. Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. Aw, Harv, heprotested, do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we weregetting the key! We must not be selfish, my boy, Harvey said nobly. We have had ourchance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who mighthave more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here. Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out. <doc-sep>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio. Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers. Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device. I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly. Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune. Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears. He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door. Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't saying I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down? Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet. To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio! This what? Johnson blurted out. In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science! The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar. And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension? It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact. The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet. Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language. Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide? Johnson recoiled. No—no, of course not . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details. Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings? Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion. For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life. Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me? For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience. Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty. Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem! Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first? <doc-sep>Harvey turned a knob on the face of the scarred radio. After severalsqueals of spatial figures, a smooth voice began: There are omnious pleajes of moby-hailegs in sonmirand which,howgraismon, are notch to be donfured miss ellasellabell in either orboth hagasanipaj, by all means. This does not refly, on the brotherman, nat or mizzafil saces are denuded by this ossifaligo.... Harvey switched off the set determinedly. Wait a minute! Johnson begged. I almost got it then! I dislike being commercial, said Harvey, but this astounding devicestill belongs to us. Would we not be foolish to let you discover theclue before purchasing the right to do so? The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonizedlonging. How much do you want? he asked unhappily. One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood. Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features,paid with the worst possible grace. Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv? Joeasked. What about the batteries? demanded Johnson with deadly calm. A very small matter, Harvey said airily. You see, we have beenanalyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course,the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last notless than one Terrestrial month, at the very least. What do I do then? Harvey shrugged. Special batteries are required, which I see Josephhas by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of theirkind left in the system, I ask only what they cost—one hundred andninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less. Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near hisgun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted. Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyorscollected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they wereoutside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tenselyto a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying: Oh, you hannaforge are all beasa-taga-sanimort. If you rue amount it,how do you respench a pure woman to ansver go-samak— I'll get it! they heard Johnson mutter. Then the sound of giant feet crossing the barroom floor reached theirears, and a shrill question: What's that, Papa? A fortune, Jed! Those fakers are damned fools, selling us a thinglike— Joe gazed at Harvey admiringly. Another one sold? Harv, that spielpulls them in like an ether storm! Together with the remarkable planetoid man, they reached the ship.Above them, dark, tumbling shapes blotted out the stars and silentlymoved on. Joe opened the gangway door. Come on in, pal, he said to Genius. We're shoving off. The planetoid man grinned foolishly. Can't go arong with you, he saidwith an apologetic manner. I rike to, but pressure fratten me out if Igo. What in solar blazes are you talking about? Harvey asked. I grow up on pranetoid, Genius explained. On big pranet, too muchpressure for me. The two salesmen looked narrowly at each other. Did Johnson know that when he sold you? Joe snarled. Oh, sure. The silly grin became wider than ever. Peopre from Earthbuy me rots of times. I never reave pranetoid, though. Joseph, Harvey said ominously, that slick colonist has put one overupon us. What is our customary procedure in that event? We tear him apart, Joe replied between his teeth. Not Mister Johnson, advised Genius. Have gun and badge. He shoot youfirst and then rock you up in prison. Harvey paused, his ominous air vanishing. True. There is also thefact, Joseph, that when he discovers the scrambled rectifier inthe radio we sold him, he will have been paid back in full for hisregrettable dishonesty. <doc-sep>Unwillingly, Joe agreed. While Genius retreated to a safe distance,they entered the ship and blasted off. Within a few minutes theautomatic steering pilot had maneuvered them above the plane of theasteroid belt. I got kind of dizzy, Joe said, there were so many deals back andforth. How much did we make on the sucker? A goodly amount, I wager, Harvey responded. He took out a pencil andpaper. Medicine, 469.50; radio, 1,000; batteries, 199. Total—let'ssee—1668 buckos and 50 redsents. A goodly sum, as I told you. He emptied his pockets of money, spread it out on the astrogation tableand began counting. Finished, he looked up, troubled. How much did we have when we landed, Joseph? Exactly 1668 buckos, Joe answered promptly. I can't understand it, said Harvey. Instead of double our capital,we now have only 1668 buckos and 50 redsents! Feverishly, he returned to his pencil and paper. Drinking water, 790; battery water, free; meal, 328; planetoid man,550. Total: 1668 buckos! He stared at the figures. We paid out almostas much as we took in, he said bitterly. Despite our intensiveefforts, we made the absurd sum of fifty redsents. Why, the dirty crook! Joe growled. But after a few moments of sad reflection, Harvey became philosophical.Perhaps, Joseph, we are more fortunate than we realize. We were,after all, completely in Johnson's power. The more I ponder, the moreI believe we were lucky to escape. And, anyhow, we did make fiftyredsents on the swindler. A moral victory, my boy. Joe, who had been sunk desparingly into a chair, now stood up slowlyand asked: Remember that bottle-opener we gave him? Certainly, Harvey explained. What about it? How much did it cost us? Harvey's eyebrows puckered. Suddenly he started laughing. You'reright, Joseph. We paid forty-six redsents for it on Venus. So, afterall that transacting of business, we made four redsents! Four redsents, hell! Joe snapped. That was the sales tax! He glared; then a smile lifted his mouth. You remember those yokels onMars' Flatlands, and the way they worshipped gold? Goldbricks! Harvey said succinctly. Grinning, Joe set the robot-controls for Mars. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the relationship between Harvey and Joe.

Harvey and Joe are business partners and conmen. Although they are both important players in their various ruses, Harvey is definitely the brains behind the operation. Joe is willing to listen to Harvey’s instructions and play along in order to get money out of their victims. However, he is also a bit more hot-headed than his partner, and it’s up to Harvey to calm Joe down when he gets flustered because they are taken advantage of. When Joe finds out about the sweet water that Johnson lied about, he is instantly irate. Later, when Johnson tricks them into ordering loads of food at his restaurant, Joe is furious and threatens not to pay the bill. In both instances, Harvey recognizes that the pair was fooled fair and square and all they can do is accept the loss. It is obvious that the two have been working together for a long time because they are able to communicate using very few words and gestures. They both know their playbook of tricks, and it is easy for each of the men to tip the other off to their thoughts. After meeting Genius, Harvey and Joe immediately agree that they should try and acquire the creature. Both men are money-minded and they see dollar signs when they lay their eyes on an alien as peculiar as him. When the duo wants to sell their medicine, Joe pretends to come down with symptoms of asteroid fever, and Harvey doesn’t miss a beat. Within moments he asks Joe if he’s feeling okay and goes to fetch the fake panacea that they peddle.

What is the significance of Genius? [SEP] <s> GRIFTERS' ASTEROID By H. L. GOLD Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought! Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them five buckos for a glass of water—and got it! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, withno dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of landthat had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontificallyinto the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—histall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing somethingincoherent. They met in the doorway, violently. We're delirious! Joe cried. It's a mirage! What is? asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton. Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,speechless for once. In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panaceapurveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never hadthey seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon. Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in twohands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in theremaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpishHarvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering thisimpossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruitjuice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously. Nonsense, Harvey croaked uncertainly. We have seen enough queerthings to know there are always more. He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:Water—quick! Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought outtwo glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, askedfor more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartenderhad taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey. Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water sofast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender'simpersonal eyes studying them shrewdly. Strangers, eh? he asked at last. Solar salesmen, my colonial friend, Harvey answered in his usuallush manner. We purvey that renowned Martian remedy, La-anagoYergis , the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves inthe ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous inproclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire historyof therapeutics. Yeah? said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaserglasses without washing them. Where you heading? Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gonewithout water for five ghastly days. Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port? Joe asked. We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't landhere unless they're in trouble. Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off. Mayor takes care of that, replied the saloon owner. If you gents'refinished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos. Harvey grinned puzzledly. We didn't take any whiskey. Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with everychaser. Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. That—that's robbery! the lanky manmanaged to get out in a thin quaver. The barkeeper shrugged. When there ain't many customers, you gottamake more on each one. Besides— Besides nothing! Joe roared, finding his voice again. You dirtycrook—robbing poor spacemen! You— You dirty crook! Joe roared. Robbing honest spacemen! Harvey nudged him warningly. Easy, my boy, easy. He turned to thebartender apologetically. Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands aresometimes overactive. You were going to say—? <doc-sep>The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression. Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em, he said,shaking his head. Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitteras some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in withbuckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—Iwas chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I chargebecause I gotta. Friend, said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eightfive-bucko bills, here is your money. What's fair is fair, and youhave put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be anunconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man'sthirst. The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar. If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss fillingyour tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, officialrecorder, fire chief.... And chief of police, no doubt, said Harvey jocosely. Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here justcall me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water willyou need? Joe estimated quickly. About seventy-five liters, if we go on halfrations, he answered. He waited apprehensively. Let's say ten buckos a liter, the mayor said. On account of thequantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts memore to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,that's all. The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks withthem. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intentlywatched the crude level-gauge, crying Stop! when it registered theproper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger andwetted his lips expectantly. Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: But what are we todo about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would bepreposterous. We simply can't afford it. Johnson's response almost floored them. Who said anything aboutcharging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.It's just the purified stuff that comes so high. After giving them directions that would take them to the free-waterpool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headedback to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside. Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague? said Harvey as he and Joepicked up buckets that hung on the tank. Johnson, as I saw instantly,is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly. Just the same, Joe griped, paying for water isn't something you canget used to in ten minutes. In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang fromthe igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled theirbuckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more. <doc-sep>It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine ona bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko signin front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keepinga faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went toinvestigate. Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender moundthat was unmistakably a buried pipe. What's this doing here? Harvey asked, puzzled. I thought Johnson hadto transport water in pails. Wonder where it leads to, Joe said uneasily. It leads to the saloon, said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing thepipe back toward the spaceport. What I am concerned with is where itleads from . Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion ofscrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burstinto the open—before a clear, sparkling pool. Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water. I am growing suspicious, he said in a rigidly controlled voice. But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water andtasting it. Sweet! he snarled. They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.His mouth went wry. Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! Theonly thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor'sconscience. The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on, saidHarvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. Joseph, the good-natured artist inme has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until wehave had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from thispoint hence. Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door theystopped and their fists unclenched. Thought you gents were leaving, the mayor called out, seeing themfrozen in the doorway. Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City. You don't need any more, said Harvey, dismayed. Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hairand held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously beenborn and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would havekept him down near the general dimensions of a man. He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his ownhand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again whenhis fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressedone. Pleased to meet you, piped a voice that had never known a denseatmosphere. The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick andunpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for.... Joseph! he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. Don't youfeel well? Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes weregently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his featuresdrooping like a bloodhound's. Bring him in here! Johnson cried. I mean, get him away! He's comingdown with asteroid fever! Of course, replied Harvey calmly. Any fool knows the first symptomsof the disease that once scourged the universe. What do you mean, once ? demanded Johnson. I come down with itevery year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get himout of here! In good time. He can't be moved immediately. Then he'll be here for months! Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor andhis gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathein tiny, uncontaminating gasps. You'll find everything you want in the back room, Johnson saidfrantically, sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suctioncups— Relics of the past, Harvey stated. One medication is all modern manrequires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever. What's that? asked the mayor without conviction. Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-handrocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within afew minutes, carrying a bottle. <doc-sep>Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowlycrossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partnerdrink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back andwaited for the inevitable result. Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for severalmoments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomedto perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his featuresstraightened out. Are—are you all right? asked the mayor anxiously. Much better, said Joe in a weak voice. Maybe you need another dose, Harvey suggested. Joe recoiled. I'm fine now! he cried, and sprang off the bar to proveit. Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse. Well, I'll be hanged! Johnson ejaculated. La-anago Yergis never fails, my friend, Harvey explained. Byactual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-threeminutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caughtthis one before it grew formidable. The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. If youdon't charge too much, he said warily, I might think of buying some. We do not sell this unbelievable remedy, Harvey replied with dignity.It sells itself. 'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a wholecase, said Johnson. That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared withthe vast loss of time and strength the fever involves. How much? asked the mayor unhappily. For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundredbuckos. Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression ofdoing so. F-four hundred, he offered. Not a red cent less than four seventy-five, Harvey said flatly. Make it four fifty, quavered Johnson. I dislike haggling, said Harvey. The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos andfifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: And we will include, gratis , an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurianhandicraftsmanship. Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. No tricks now. I want a taste ofthat stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me. Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. Themayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuingminute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle whichthe man gradually won. There ain't no words for that taste, he gulped when it was safe totalk again. Medicine, Harvey propounded, should taste like medicine. To Joe hesaid: Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task towhich we have dedicated ourselves. With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed theclearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe droppedhis murderous silence and cried: What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of thatsnake oil? That was not poison, Harvey contradicted quietly. It was La-anagoYergis extract, plus. Plus what—arsenic? Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufactureour specific for all known ailments, with the intention of sellingyonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had beenswindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit havebeen, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course. But why use it on me? Joe demanded furiously. Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. Did Johnson ask totaste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to producethe same medicine that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were aguinea pig for a splendid cause. Okay, okay, Joe said. But you shoulda charged him more. Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of whichthat swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables hepossesses. We could not be content with less. Well, we're starting all right, admitted Joe. How about that thingwith six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off? Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively. I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with ourstreamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolicsuckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on theaudio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendousfigure to the zoo! <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged. That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now. Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship. H-mph! the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality. Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge. Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price. Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone. Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly. Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host. Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room. He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company. Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents? Quite, said Harvey. We shall order. For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian viotars , using his other twohands for waiting on the table. We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire. Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right. But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents. The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion. It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents. As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror. What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos ! <doc-sep>Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirtyfingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu. Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty withrage. The minute note read: Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80redsents. You can go to hell! Joe growled. We won't pay it! Johnson sighed ponderously. I was afraid you'd act like that, he saidwith regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it onhis vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. Afraid I'll have toask the sheriff to take over. Johnson, the sheriff, collected the money, and Johnson, therestaurateur, pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign toremain calm. My friend, he said to the mayor, and his tones took on aschoolmasterish severity, your long absence from Earth has perhapsmade you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered thefolk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is follyto kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is poundfoolish.' I don't get the connection, objected Johnson. Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you putout of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantialdeal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer forthe peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds theway you have— Who said I wanted to sell him? the mayor interrupted. He rubbed hisfingers together and asked disinterestedly: What were you going tooffer, anyhow? It doesn't matter any longer, Harvey said with elaboratecarelessness. Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway. That's right, Johnson came back emphatically. But what would youroffer have been which I would have turned down? Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now? Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable tosell. Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money wouldtempt you! Nope. But how much did you say? Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius! Well, I'll tell you something, said the mayor confidentially. Whenyou've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,you can buy this and that and this and that and— This and that, concluded Joe. We'll give you five hundred buckos. Now, gents! Johnson remonstrated. Why, six hundred would hardly— You haven't left us much money, Harvey put in. The mayor frowned. All right, we'll split the difference. Make itfive-fifty. Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then hestood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensivelyacquired. I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature, he said toJohnson. I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only yourfilial mammoth to keep you company. I sure will, Johnson confessed glumly. I got pretty attached toGenius, and I'm going to miss him something awful. Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing offthe table almost all at once. My friend, he said, we take your only solace, it is true, but in hisplace we can offer something no less amazing and instructive. The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. What is it? heasked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at itsworst and expects nothing better. Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room ofthe ship, Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: You must seethe wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partnerwill soon have it here for your astonishment. Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. Aw, Harv, heprotested, do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we weregetting the key! We must not be selfish, my boy, Harvey said nobly. We have had ourchance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who mighthave more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here. Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out. <doc-sep>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio. Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers. Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device. I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly. Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune. Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears. He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door. Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't saying I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down? Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet. To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio! This what? Johnson blurted out. In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science! The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar. And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension? It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact. The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet. Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language. Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide? Johnson recoiled. No—no, of course not . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details. Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings? Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion. For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life. Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me? For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience. Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty. Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem! Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first? <doc-sep>Harvey turned a knob on the face of the scarred radio. After severalsqueals of spatial figures, a smooth voice began: There are omnious pleajes of moby-hailegs in sonmirand which,howgraismon, are notch to be donfured miss ellasellabell in either orboth hagasanipaj, by all means. This does not refly, on the brotherman, nat or mizzafil saces are denuded by this ossifaligo.... Harvey switched off the set determinedly. Wait a minute! Johnson begged. I almost got it then! I dislike being commercial, said Harvey, but this astounding devicestill belongs to us. Would we not be foolish to let you discover theclue before purchasing the right to do so? The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonizedlonging. How much do you want? he asked unhappily. One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood. Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features,paid with the worst possible grace. Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv? Joeasked. What about the batteries? demanded Johnson with deadly calm. A very small matter, Harvey said airily. You see, we have beenanalyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course,the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last notless than one Terrestrial month, at the very least. What do I do then? Harvey shrugged. Special batteries are required, which I see Josephhas by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of theirkind left in the system, I ask only what they cost—one hundred andninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less. Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near hisgun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted. Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyorscollected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they wereoutside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tenselyto a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying: Oh, you hannaforge are all beasa-taga-sanimort. If you rue amount it,how do you respench a pure woman to ansver go-samak— I'll get it! they heard Johnson mutter. Then the sound of giant feet crossing the barroom floor reached theirears, and a shrill question: What's that, Papa? A fortune, Jed! Those fakers are damned fools, selling us a thinglike— Joe gazed at Harvey admiringly. Another one sold? Harv, that spielpulls them in like an ether storm! Together with the remarkable planetoid man, they reached the ship.Above them, dark, tumbling shapes blotted out the stars and silentlymoved on. Joe opened the gangway door. Come on in, pal, he said to Genius. We're shoving off. The planetoid man grinned foolishly. Can't go arong with you, he saidwith an apologetic manner. I rike to, but pressure fratten me out if Igo. What in solar blazes are you talking about? Harvey asked. I grow up on pranetoid, Genius explained. On big pranet, too muchpressure for me. The two salesmen looked narrowly at each other. Did Johnson know that when he sold you? Joe snarled. Oh, sure. The silly grin became wider than ever. Peopre from Earthbuy me rots of times. I never reave pranetoid, though. Joseph, Harvey said ominously, that slick colonist has put one overupon us. What is our customary procedure in that event? We tear him apart, Joe replied between his teeth. Not Mister Johnson, advised Genius. Have gun and badge. He shoot youfirst and then rock you up in prison. Harvey paused, his ominous air vanishing. True. There is also thefact, Joseph, that when he discovers the scrambled rectifier inthe radio we sold him, he will have been paid back in full for hisregrettable dishonesty. <doc-sep>Unwillingly, Joe agreed. While Genius retreated to a safe distance,they entered the ship and blasted off. Within a few minutes theautomatic steering pilot had maneuvered them above the plane of theasteroid belt. I got kind of dizzy, Joe said, there were so many deals back andforth. How much did we make on the sucker? A goodly amount, I wager, Harvey responded. He took out a pencil andpaper. Medicine, 469.50; radio, 1,000; batteries, 199. Total—let'ssee—1668 buckos and 50 redsents. A goodly sum, as I told you. He emptied his pockets of money, spread it out on the astrogation tableand began counting. Finished, he looked up, troubled. How much did we have when we landed, Joseph? Exactly 1668 buckos, Joe answered promptly. I can't understand it, said Harvey. Instead of double our capital,we now have only 1668 buckos and 50 redsents! Feverishly, he returned to his pencil and paper. Drinking water, 790; battery water, free; meal, 328; planetoid man,550. Total: 1668 buckos! He stared at the figures. We paid out almostas much as we took in, he said bitterly. Despite our intensiveefforts, we made the absurd sum of fifty redsents. Why, the dirty crook! Joe growled. But after a few moments of sad reflection, Harvey became philosophical.Perhaps, Joseph, we are more fortunate than we realize. We were,after all, completely in Johnson's power. The more I ponder, the moreI believe we were lucky to escape. And, anyhow, we did make fiftyredsents on the swindler. A moral victory, my boy. Joe, who had been sunk desparingly into a chair, now stood up slowlyand asked: Remember that bottle-opener we gave him? Certainly, Harvey explained. What about it? How much did it cost us? Harvey's eyebrows puckered. Suddenly he started laughing. You'reright, Joseph. We paid forty-six redsents for it on Venus. So, afterall that transacting of business, we made four redsents! Four redsents, hell! Joe snapped. That was the sales tax! He glared; then a smile lifted his mouth. You remember those yokels onMars' Flatlands, and the way they worshipped gold? Goldbricks! Harvey said succinctly. Grinning, Joe set the robot-controls for Mars. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of Genius?

Genius is an important character because he is used to illustrate just how brilliant Johnson is. The man is clearly intelligent because he has positioned himself as the sheriff, the barman, and the mayor of Planetoid 42. He also makes money by fooling gullible outsiders into paying high prices for water and food. However, his idea to sell Genius over and over again is perhaps the most shrewd. His asking price for the remarkable creature is in the 600s, much more than he’s able to charge for water or dishes at his restaurant. Johnson pretends that he’s attached to Genius and would hate to see him go, yet he cannot turn down the incredible sum of money. Each time Genius is sold to naive buyers, he ends up making his way right back to Johnson’s bar, and Johnson profits all of the money. Genius cannot leave the planet because the pressure in other habitats is too much for his unique body to handle. If one of the buyers insisted on bringing him aboard their ship, he would turn up dead and useless to them anyway. Therefore, they always send the poor creature back to Johnson and lose out on their plans to make loads of money off of him.

How does Johnson demonstrate that he's a formidable opponent to Joe and Harvey? [SEP] <s> GRIFTERS' ASTEROID By H. L. GOLD Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought! Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them five buckos for a glass of water—and got it! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, withno dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of landthat had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontificallyinto the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—histall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing somethingincoherent. They met in the doorway, violently. We're delirious! Joe cried. It's a mirage! What is? asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton. Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,speechless for once. In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panaceapurveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never hadthey seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon. Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in twohands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in theremaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpishHarvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering thisimpossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruitjuice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously. Nonsense, Harvey croaked uncertainly. We have seen enough queerthings to know there are always more. He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:Water—quick! Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought outtwo glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, askedfor more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartenderhad taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey. Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water sofast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender'simpersonal eyes studying them shrewdly. Strangers, eh? he asked at last. Solar salesmen, my colonial friend, Harvey answered in his usuallush manner. We purvey that renowned Martian remedy, La-anagoYergis , the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves inthe ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous inproclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire historyof therapeutics. Yeah? said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaserglasses without washing them. Where you heading? Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gonewithout water for five ghastly days. Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port? Joe asked. We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't landhere unless they're in trouble. Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off. Mayor takes care of that, replied the saloon owner. If you gents'refinished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos. Harvey grinned puzzledly. We didn't take any whiskey. Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with everychaser. Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. That—that's robbery! the lanky manmanaged to get out in a thin quaver. The barkeeper shrugged. When there ain't many customers, you gottamake more on each one. Besides— Besides nothing! Joe roared, finding his voice again. You dirtycrook—robbing poor spacemen! You— You dirty crook! Joe roared. Robbing honest spacemen! Harvey nudged him warningly. Easy, my boy, easy. He turned to thebartender apologetically. Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands aresometimes overactive. You were going to say—? <doc-sep>The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression. Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em, he said,shaking his head. Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitteras some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in withbuckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—Iwas chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I chargebecause I gotta. Friend, said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eightfive-bucko bills, here is your money. What's fair is fair, and youhave put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be anunconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man'sthirst. The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar. If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss fillingyour tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, officialrecorder, fire chief.... And chief of police, no doubt, said Harvey jocosely. Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here justcall me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water willyou need? Joe estimated quickly. About seventy-five liters, if we go on halfrations, he answered. He waited apprehensively. Let's say ten buckos a liter, the mayor said. On account of thequantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts memore to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,that's all. The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks withthem. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intentlywatched the crude level-gauge, crying Stop! when it registered theproper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger andwetted his lips expectantly. Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: But what are we todo about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would bepreposterous. We simply can't afford it. Johnson's response almost floored them. Who said anything aboutcharging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.It's just the purified stuff that comes so high. After giving them directions that would take them to the free-waterpool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headedback to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside. Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague? said Harvey as he and Joepicked up buckets that hung on the tank. Johnson, as I saw instantly,is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly. Just the same, Joe griped, paying for water isn't something you canget used to in ten minutes. In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang fromthe igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled theirbuckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more. <doc-sep>It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine ona bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko signin front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keepinga faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went toinvestigate. Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender moundthat was unmistakably a buried pipe. What's this doing here? Harvey asked, puzzled. I thought Johnson hadto transport water in pails. Wonder where it leads to, Joe said uneasily. It leads to the saloon, said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing thepipe back toward the spaceport. What I am concerned with is where itleads from . Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion ofscrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burstinto the open—before a clear, sparkling pool. Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water. I am growing suspicious, he said in a rigidly controlled voice. But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water andtasting it. Sweet! he snarled. They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.His mouth went wry. Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! Theonly thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor'sconscience. The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on, saidHarvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. Joseph, the good-natured artist inme has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until wehave had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from thispoint hence. Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door theystopped and their fists unclenched. Thought you gents were leaving, the mayor called out, seeing themfrozen in the doorway. Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City. You don't need any more, said Harvey, dismayed. Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hairand held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously beenborn and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would havekept him down near the general dimensions of a man. He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his ownhand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again whenhis fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressedone. Pleased to meet you, piped a voice that had never known a denseatmosphere. The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick andunpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for.... Joseph! he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. Don't youfeel well? Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes weregently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his featuresdrooping like a bloodhound's. Bring him in here! Johnson cried. I mean, get him away! He's comingdown with asteroid fever! Of course, replied Harvey calmly. Any fool knows the first symptomsof the disease that once scourged the universe. What do you mean, once ? demanded Johnson. I come down with itevery year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get himout of here! In good time. He can't be moved immediately. Then he'll be here for months! Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor andhis gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathein tiny, uncontaminating gasps. You'll find everything you want in the back room, Johnson saidfrantically, sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suctioncups— Relics of the past, Harvey stated. One medication is all modern manrequires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever. What's that? asked the mayor without conviction. Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-handrocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within afew minutes, carrying a bottle. <doc-sep>Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowlycrossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partnerdrink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back andwaited for the inevitable result. Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for severalmoments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomedto perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his featuresstraightened out. Are—are you all right? asked the mayor anxiously. Much better, said Joe in a weak voice. Maybe you need another dose, Harvey suggested. Joe recoiled. I'm fine now! he cried, and sprang off the bar to proveit. Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse. Well, I'll be hanged! Johnson ejaculated. La-anago Yergis never fails, my friend, Harvey explained. Byactual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-threeminutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caughtthis one before it grew formidable. The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. If youdon't charge too much, he said warily, I might think of buying some. We do not sell this unbelievable remedy, Harvey replied with dignity.It sells itself. 'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a wholecase, said Johnson. That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared withthe vast loss of time and strength the fever involves. How much? asked the mayor unhappily. For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundredbuckos. Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression ofdoing so. F-four hundred, he offered. Not a red cent less than four seventy-five, Harvey said flatly. Make it four fifty, quavered Johnson. I dislike haggling, said Harvey. The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos andfifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: And we will include, gratis , an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurianhandicraftsmanship. Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. No tricks now. I want a taste ofthat stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me. Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. Themayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuingminute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle whichthe man gradually won. There ain't no words for that taste, he gulped when it was safe totalk again. Medicine, Harvey propounded, should taste like medicine. To Joe hesaid: Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task towhich we have dedicated ourselves. With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed theclearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe droppedhis murderous silence and cried: What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of thatsnake oil? That was not poison, Harvey contradicted quietly. It was La-anagoYergis extract, plus. Plus what—arsenic? Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufactureour specific for all known ailments, with the intention of sellingyonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had beenswindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit havebeen, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course. But why use it on me? Joe demanded furiously. Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. Did Johnson ask totaste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to producethe same medicine that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were aguinea pig for a splendid cause. Okay, okay, Joe said. But you shoulda charged him more. Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of whichthat swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables hepossesses. We could not be content with less. Well, we're starting all right, admitted Joe. How about that thingwith six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off? Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively. I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with ourstreamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolicsuckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on theaudio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendousfigure to the zoo! <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged. That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now. Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship. H-mph! the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality. Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge. Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price. Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone. Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly. Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host. Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room. He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company. Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents? Quite, said Harvey. We shall order. For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian viotars , using his other twohands for waiting on the table. We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire. Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right. But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents. The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion. It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents. As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror. What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos ! <doc-sep>Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirtyfingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu. Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty withrage. The minute note read: Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80redsents. You can go to hell! Joe growled. We won't pay it! Johnson sighed ponderously. I was afraid you'd act like that, he saidwith regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it onhis vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. Afraid I'll have toask the sheriff to take over. Johnson, the sheriff, collected the money, and Johnson, therestaurateur, pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign toremain calm. My friend, he said to the mayor, and his tones took on aschoolmasterish severity, your long absence from Earth has perhapsmade you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered thefolk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is follyto kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is poundfoolish.' I don't get the connection, objected Johnson. Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you putout of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantialdeal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer forthe peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds theway you have— Who said I wanted to sell him? the mayor interrupted. He rubbed hisfingers together and asked disinterestedly: What were you going tooffer, anyhow? It doesn't matter any longer, Harvey said with elaboratecarelessness. Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway. That's right, Johnson came back emphatically. But what would youroffer have been which I would have turned down? Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now? Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable tosell. Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money wouldtempt you! Nope. But how much did you say? Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius! Well, I'll tell you something, said the mayor confidentially. Whenyou've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,you can buy this and that and this and that and— This and that, concluded Joe. We'll give you five hundred buckos. Now, gents! Johnson remonstrated. Why, six hundred would hardly— You haven't left us much money, Harvey put in. The mayor frowned. All right, we'll split the difference. Make itfive-fifty. Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then hestood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensivelyacquired. I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature, he said toJohnson. I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only yourfilial mammoth to keep you company. I sure will, Johnson confessed glumly. I got pretty attached toGenius, and I'm going to miss him something awful. Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing offthe table almost all at once. My friend, he said, we take your only solace, it is true, but in hisplace we can offer something no less amazing and instructive. The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. What is it? heasked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at itsworst and expects nothing better. Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room ofthe ship, Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: You must seethe wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partnerwill soon have it here for your astonishment. Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. Aw, Harv, heprotested, do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we weregetting the key! We must not be selfish, my boy, Harvey said nobly. We have had ourchance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who mighthave more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here. Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out. <doc-sep>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio. Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers. Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device. I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly. Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune. Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears. He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door. Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't saying I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down? Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet. To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio! This what? Johnson blurted out. In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science! The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar. And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension? It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact. The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet. Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language. Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide? Johnson recoiled. No—no, of course not . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details. Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings? Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion. For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life. Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me? For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience. Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty. Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem! Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first? <doc-sep>Harvey turned a knob on the face of the scarred radio. After severalsqueals of spatial figures, a smooth voice began: There are omnious pleajes of moby-hailegs in sonmirand which,howgraismon, are notch to be donfured miss ellasellabell in either orboth hagasanipaj, by all means. This does not refly, on the brotherman, nat or mizzafil saces are denuded by this ossifaligo.... Harvey switched off the set determinedly. Wait a minute! Johnson begged. I almost got it then! I dislike being commercial, said Harvey, but this astounding devicestill belongs to us. Would we not be foolish to let you discover theclue before purchasing the right to do so? The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonizedlonging. How much do you want? he asked unhappily. One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood. Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features,paid with the worst possible grace. Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv? Joeasked. What about the batteries? demanded Johnson with deadly calm. A very small matter, Harvey said airily. You see, we have beenanalyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course,the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last notless than one Terrestrial month, at the very least. What do I do then? Harvey shrugged. Special batteries are required, which I see Josephhas by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of theirkind left in the system, I ask only what they cost—one hundred andninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less. Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near hisgun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted. Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyorscollected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they wereoutside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tenselyto a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying: Oh, you hannaforge are all beasa-taga-sanimort. If you rue amount it,how do you respench a pure woman to ansver go-samak— I'll get it! they heard Johnson mutter. Then the sound of giant feet crossing the barroom floor reached theirears, and a shrill question: What's that, Papa? A fortune, Jed! Those fakers are damned fools, selling us a thinglike— Joe gazed at Harvey admiringly. Another one sold? Harv, that spielpulls them in like an ether storm! Together with the remarkable planetoid man, they reached the ship.Above them, dark, tumbling shapes blotted out the stars and silentlymoved on. Joe opened the gangway door. Come on in, pal, he said to Genius. We're shoving off. The planetoid man grinned foolishly. Can't go arong with you, he saidwith an apologetic manner. I rike to, but pressure fratten me out if Igo. What in solar blazes are you talking about? Harvey asked. I grow up on pranetoid, Genius explained. On big pranet, too muchpressure for me. The two salesmen looked narrowly at each other. Did Johnson know that when he sold you? Joe snarled. Oh, sure. The silly grin became wider than ever. Peopre from Earthbuy me rots of times. I never reave pranetoid, though. Joseph, Harvey said ominously, that slick colonist has put one overupon us. What is our customary procedure in that event? We tear him apart, Joe replied between his teeth. Not Mister Johnson, advised Genius. Have gun and badge. He shoot youfirst and then rock you up in prison. Harvey paused, his ominous air vanishing. True. There is also thefact, Joseph, that when he discovers the scrambled rectifier inthe radio we sold him, he will have been paid back in full for hisregrettable dishonesty. <doc-sep>Unwillingly, Joe agreed. While Genius retreated to a safe distance,they entered the ship and blasted off. Within a few minutes theautomatic steering pilot had maneuvered them above the plane of theasteroid belt. I got kind of dizzy, Joe said, there were so many deals back andforth. How much did we make on the sucker? A goodly amount, I wager, Harvey responded. He took out a pencil andpaper. Medicine, 469.50; radio, 1,000; batteries, 199. Total—let'ssee—1668 buckos and 50 redsents. A goodly sum, as I told you. He emptied his pockets of money, spread it out on the astrogation tableand began counting. Finished, he looked up, troubled. How much did we have when we landed, Joseph? Exactly 1668 buckos, Joe answered promptly. I can't understand it, said Harvey. Instead of double our capital,we now have only 1668 buckos and 50 redsents! Feverishly, he returned to his pencil and paper. Drinking water, 790; battery water, free; meal, 328; planetoid man,550. Total: 1668 buckos! He stared at the figures. We paid out almostas much as we took in, he said bitterly. Despite our intensiveefforts, we made the absurd sum of fifty redsents. Why, the dirty crook! Joe growled. But after a few moments of sad reflection, Harvey became philosophical.Perhaps, Joseph, we are more fortunate than we realize. We were,after all, completely in Johnson's power. The more I ponder, the moreI believe we were lucky to escape. And, anyhow, we did make fiftyredsents on the swindler. A moral victory, my boy. Joe, who had been sunk desparingly into a chair, now stood up slowlyand asked: Remember that bottle-opener we gave him? Certainly, Harvey explained. What about it? How much did it cost us? Harvey's eyebrows puckered. Suddenly he started laughing. You'reright, Joseph. We paid forty-six redsents for it on Venus. So, afterall that transacting of business, we made four redsents! Four redsents, hell! Joe snapped. That was the sales tax! He glared; then a smile lifted his mouth. You remember those yokels onMars' Flatlands, and the way they worshipped gold? Goldbricks! Harvey said succinctly. Grinning, Joe set the robot-controls for Mars. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does Johnson demonstrate that he's a formidable opponent to Joe and Harvey?

Joe and Harvey are professional conmen, so they are quite good at swindling innocent victims. They make their money by peddling a fake panacea called La-anago Yergis. The men regularly partake in an act where Joe falls ill and Harvey has to come to his rescue with the extract. Although Johnson falls for this trick and purchases an entire case of the medicine, he also does a great job of getting Harvey and Joe back. At the end of the story, the opposing sides come out basically even in terms of financial gains. Johnson first demonstrates that he can take advantage of Harvey and Joe when he gives them each eight glasses of water before letting them know that he charges a lot for each glass. The men say they’re thirsty, so he is happy to give them as much as they’d like to drink. Although Johnson says that the water costs so much because it must be specially purified, the truth is that he has access to an entire body of water and there really isn’t any reason to charge so much.Later, Johnson convinces Harvey and Joe that they’re hungry enough to sit down at his restaurant even though neither one had even mentioned food. He allows them to order their food and believe that they’re getting an incredible deal until he tells them about the fine print on the menu. Harvey and Joe are forced to fork over hundreds of dollars for their meal, and when they threaten to walk out, Johnson reminds them that he is the sheriff on Planetoid 42, and he has the power to arrest them.

Describe the setting of the story. [SEP] <s> GRIFTERS' ASTEROID By H. L. GOLD Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought! Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them five buckos for a glass of water—and got it! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, withno dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of landthat had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontificallyinto the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—histall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing somethingincoherent. They met in the doorway, violently. We're delirious! Joe cried. It's a mirage! What is? asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton. Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,speechless for once. In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panaceapurveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never hadthey seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon. Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in twohands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in theremaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpishHarvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering thisimpossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruitjuice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously. Nonsense, Harvey croaked uncertainly. We have seen enough queerthings to know there are always more. He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:Water—quick! Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought outtwo glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, askedfor more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartenderhad taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey. Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water sofast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender'simpersonal eyes studying them shrewdly. Strangers, eh? he asked at last. Solar salesmen, my colonial friend, Harvey answered in his usuallush manner. We purvey that renowned Martian remedy, La-anagoYergis , the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves inthe ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous inproclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire historyof therapeutics. Yeah? said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaserglasses without washing them. Where you heading? Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gonewithout water for five ghastly days. Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port? Joe asked. We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't landhere unless they're in trouble. Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off. Mayor takes care of that, replied the saloon owner. If you gents'refinished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos. Harvey grinned puzzledly. We didn't take any whiskey. Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with everychaser. Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. That—that's robbery! the lanky manmanaged to get out in a thin quaver. The barkeeper shrugged. When there ain't many customers, you gottamake more on each one. Besides— Besides nothing! Joe roared, finding his voice again. You dirtycrook—robbing poor spacemen! You— You dirty crook! Joe roared. Robbing honest spacemen! Harvey nudged him warningly. Easy, my boy, easy. He turned to thebartender apologetically. Don't mind my friend. His adrenal glands aresometimes overactive. You were going to say—? <doc-sep>The round face of the barkeeper had assumed an aggrieved expression. Folks are always thinkin' the other feller's out to do 'em, he said,shaking his head. Lemme explain about the water here. It's bitteras some kinds of sin before it's purified. Have to bring it in withbuckets and make it sweet. That takes time and labor. Waddya think—Iwas chargin' feller critters for water just out of devilment? I chargebecause I gotta. Friend, said Harvey, taking out a wallet and counting off eightfive-bucko bills, here is your money. What's fair is fair, and youhave put a different complexion on what seemed at first to be anunconscionable interjection of a middleman between Nature and man'sthirst. The saloon man removed his dirty apron and came around the bar. If that's an apology, I accept it. Now the mayor'll discuss fillingyour tanks. That's me. I'm also justice of the peace, officialrecorder, fire chief.... And chief of police, no doubt, said Harvey jocosely. Nope. That's my son, Jed. Angus Johnson's my name. Folks here justcall me Chief. I run this town, and run it right. How much water willyou need? Joe estimated quickly. About seventy-five liters, if we go on halfrations, he answered. He waited apprehensively. Let's say ten buckos a liter, the mayor said. On account of thequantity, I'm able to quote a bargain price. Shucks, boys, it hurts memore to charge for water than it does for you to pay. I just got to,that's all. The mayor gestured to the native, who shuffled out to the tanks withthem. The planetoid man worked the pump while the mayor intentlywatched the crude level-gauge, crying Stop! when it registered theproper amount. Then Johnson rubbed his thumb on his index finger andwetted his lips expectantly. Harvey bravely counted off the bills. He asked: But what are we todo about replenishing our battery fluid? Ten buckos a liter would bepreposterous. We simply can't afford it. Johnson's response almost floored them. Who said anything aboutcharging you for battery water? You can have all you want for nothing.It's just the purified stuff that comes so high. After giving them directions that would take them to the free-waterpool, the ponderous factotum of Planetoid 42 shook hands and headedback to the saloon. His six-armed assistant followed him inside. Now do you see, my hot-tempered colleague? said Harvey as he and Joepicked up buckets that hung on the tank. Johnson, as I saw instantly,is the victim of a difficult environment, and must charge accordingly. Just the same, Joe griped, paying for water isn't something you canget used to in ten minutes. In the fragile forest, they soon came across a stream that sprang fromthe igneous soil and splashed into the small pond whose contents,according to the mayor, was theirs for the asking. They filled theirbuckets and hauled them to the ship, then returned for more. <doc-sep>It was on the sixth trip that Joe caught a glimpse of Jupiter-shine ona bright surface off to the left. The figure, 750, with the bucko signin front of it, was still doing acrobatics inside his skull and keepinga faint suspicion alive in him. So he called Harvey and they went toinvestigate. Among the skimpy ground-crawling vines, they saw a long slender moundthat was unmistakably a buried pipe. What's this doing here? Harvey asked, puzzled. I thought Johnson hadto transport water in pails. Wonder where it leads to, Joe said uneasily. It leads to the saloon, said Harvey, his eyes rapidly tracing thepipe back toward the spaceport. What I am concerned with is where itleads from . Five minutes later, panting heavily from the unaccustomed exertion ofscrambling through the tangle of planetorial undergrowth, they burstinto the open—before a clear, sparkling pool. Mutely, Harvey pointed out a pipe-end jutting under the water. I am growing suspicious, he said in a rigidly controlled voice. But Joe was already on his knees, scooping up a handful of water andtasting it. Sweet! he snarled. They rushed back to the first pool, where Joe again tasted a sample.His mouth went wry. Bitter! He uses only one pool, the sweet one! Theonly thing that needs purifying around here is that blasted mayor'sconscience. The asteroidal Poobah has tricked us with a slick come-on, saidHarvey slowly. His eyes grew cold. Joseph, the good-natured artist inme has become a hard and merciless avenger. I shall not rest until wehave had the best of this colonial con-man! Watch your cues from thispoint hence. Fists clenched, the two returned to the saloon. But at the door theystopped and their fists unclenched. Thought you gents were leaving, the mayor called out, seeing themfrozen in the doorway. Glad you didn't. Now you can meet my son, Jed.Him and me are the whole Earthman population of Johnson City. You don't need any more, said Harvey, dismayed. Johnson's eight-foot son, topped by a massive roof of sun-bleached hairand held up by a foundation that seemed immovable, had obviously beenborn and raised in low gravity. For any decent-sized world would havekept him down near the general dimensions of a man. He held out an acre of palm. Harvey studied it worriedly, put his ownhand somewhere on it, swallowed as it closed, then breathed again whenhis fingers were released in five units instead of a single compressedone. Pleased to meet you, piped a voice that had never known a denseatmosphere. The pursuit of vengeance, Harvey realized, had taken a quick andunpleasant turn. Something shrewd was called for.... Joseph! he exclaimed, looking at his partner in alarm. Don't youfeel well? Even before the others could turn to him, Joe's practiced eyes weregently crossing. He sagged against the door frame, all his featuresdrooping like a bloodhound's. Bring him in here! Johnson cried. I mean, get him away! He's comingdown with asteroid fever! Of course, replied Harvey calmly. Any fool knows the first symptomsof the disease that once scourged the universe. What do you mean, once ? demanded Johnson. I come down with itevery year, and I ain't hankering to have it in an off-season. Get himout of here! In good time. He can't be moved immediately. Then he'll be here for months! Harvey helped Joe to the counter and lifted him up on it. The mayor andhis gigantic offspring were cowering across the room, trying to breathein tiny, uncontaminating gasps. You'll find everything you want in the back room, Johnson saidfrantically, sulfopyridine, mustard plasters, rubs, inhalers, suctioncups— Relics of the past, Harvey stated. One medication is all modern manrequires to combat the dread menace, asteroid fever. What's that? asked the mayor without conviction. Instead of replying, Harvey hurried outside to the ungainly second-handrocket ship in the center of the shabby spaceport. He returned within afew minutes, carrying a bottle. <doc-sep>Joe was still stretched out on the bar, panting, his eyes slowlycrossing and uncrossing. Harvey lifted the patient's head tenderly,put the bottle to his lips and tilted it until he was forced to drink.When Joe tried to pull away, Harvey was inexorable. He made his partnerdrink until most of the liquid was gone. Then he stepped back andwaited for the inevitable result. Joe's performance was better than ever. He lay supine for severalmoments, his face twisted into an expression that seemed doomedto perpetual wryness. Slowly, however, he sat up and his featuresstraightened out. Are—are you all right? asked the mayor anxiously. Much better, said Joe in a weak voice. Maybe you need another dose, Harvey suggested. Joe recoiled. I'm fine now! he cried, and sprang off the bar to proveit. Astonished, Johnson and his son drew closer. They searched Joe's face,and then the mayor timidly felt his pulse. Well, I'll be hanged! Johnson ejaculated. La-anago Yergis never fails, my friend, Harvey explained. Byactual test, it conquers asteroid fever in from four to twenty-threeminutes, depending on the severity of the attack. Luckily, we caughtthis one before it grew formidable. The mayor's eyes became clouded mirrors of an inward conflict. If youdon't charge too much, he said warily, I might think of buying some. We do not sell this unbelievable remedy, Harvey replied with dignity.It sells itself. 'Course, I'd expect a considerable reduction if I bought a wholecase, said Johnson. That would be the smallest investment you could make, compared withthe vast loss of time and strength the fever involves. How much? asked the mayor unhappily. For you, since you have taken us in so hospitably, a mere five hundredbuckos. Johnson did not actually stagger back, but he gave the impression ofdoing so. F-four hundred, he offered. Not a red cent less than four seventy-five, Harvey said flatly. Make it four fifty, quavered Johnson. I dislike haggling, said Harvey. The final price, however, was four hundred and sixty-nine buckos andfifty redsents. Magnanimously, Harvey added: And we will include, gratis , an elegant bottle-opener, a superb product of Mercurianhandicraftsmanship. Johnson stabbed out a warning finger. No tricks now. I want a taste ofthat stuff. You're not switching some worthless junk on me. Harvey took a glass from the bar and poured him a generous sample. Themayor sniffed it, grimaced, then threw it down his gullet. The ensuingminute saw a grim battle between a man and his stomach, a battle whichthe man gradually won. There ain't no words for that taste, he gulped when it was safe totalk again. Medicine, Harvey propounded, should taste like medicine. To Joe hesaid: Come, my esteemed colleague. We must perform the sacred task towhich we have dedicated ourselves. With Joe stumbling along behind, he left the saloon, crossed theclearing and entered the ship. As soon as they were inside, Joe droppedhis murderous silence and cried: What kind of a dirty trick was that, giving me poison instead of thatsnake oil? That was not poison, Harvey contradicted quietly. It was La-anagoYergis extract, plus. Plus what—arsenic? Now, Joseph! Consider my quandary when I came back here to manufactureour specific for all known ailments, with the intention of sellingyonder asteroidal tin-horn a bill of medical goods—an entire case,mind you. Was I to mix the extract with the water for which we had beenswindled to the tune of ten buckos a liter? Where would our profit havebeen, then? No; I had to use the bitter free water, of course. But why use it on me? Joe demanded furiously. Harvey looked reprovingly at his gangling partner. Did Johnson ask totaste it, or did he not? One must look ahead, Joseph. I had to producethe same medicine that we will now manufacture. Thus, you were aguinea pig for a splendid cause. Okay, okay, Joe said. But you shoulda charged him more. Joseph, I promise you that we shall get back every redsent of whichthat swindler cheated us, besides whatever other funds or valuables hepossesses. We could not be content with less. Well, we're starting all right, admitted Joe. How about that thingwith six arms? He looks like a valuable. Can't we grab him off? Harvey stopped filling bottles and looked up pensively. I have every hope of luring away the profitable monstrosity.Apparently you have also surmised the fortune we could make with him.At first I purpose to exhibit him on our interplanetary tours with ourstreamlined panacea; he would be a spectacular attraction for bucolicsuckers. Later, a brief period of demonstrating his abilities on theaudio-visiphone. Then our triumph—we shall sell him at a stupendousfigure to the zoo! <doc-sep>Joe was still dazed by that monetary vista when he and Harvey carriedthe case of medicine to the saloon. The mayor had already cleared aplace of honor in the cluttered back room, where he told them to put itdown carefully. Then he took the elaborate bottle-opener Harvey gavehim, reverently uncorked a bottle and sampled it. It must have been atleast as good as the first; he gagged. That's the stuff, all right, he said, swallowing hard. He countedout the money into Harvey's hand, at a moderate rate that precariouslybalanced between his pleasure at getting the fever remedy and his painat paying for it. Then he glanced out to see the position of Jupiter,and asked: You gents eaten yet? The restaurant's open now. Harvey and Joe looked at each other. They hadn't been thinking aboutfood at all, but suddenly they realized that they were hungry. It's only water we were short of, Harvey said apprehensively. We'vegot rations back at the ship. H-mph! the mayor grunted. Powdered concentrates. Compressed pap.Suit yourselves. We treat our stomachs better here. And you're welcometo our hospitality. Your hospitality, said Harvey, depends on the prices you charge. Well, if that's what's worrying you, you can stop worrying, answeredthe mayor promptly. What's more, the kind of dinner I serve here youcan't get anywhere else for any price. Swiftly, Harvey conned the possibilities of being bilked again. He sawnone. Let's take a look at the menu, anyhow, Joe, he said guardedly. Johnson immediately fell into the role of mine host. Come right in, gents, he invited. Right into the dining room. He seated them at a table, which a rope tied between posts made more orless private, though nobody else was in the saloon and there was littlechance of company. Genius, the six-armed native, appeared from the dingy kitchen withtwo menus in one hand, two glasses of water in another, plus napkins,silverware, a pitcher, plates, saucers, cups, and their cocktails,which were on the house. Then he stood by for orders. Harvey and Joe studied the menu critically. The prices werephenomenally low. When they glanced up at Johnson in perplexity, hegrinned, bowed and asked: Everything satisfactory, gents? Quite, said Harvey. We shall order. For an hour they were served amazing dishes, both fresh and canned, theculinary wealth of this planetoid and all the system. And the servicewas as extraordinary as the meal itself. With four hands, Genius playeddeftly upon a pair of mellow Venusian viotars , using his other twohands for waiting on the table. We absolutely must purchase this incredible specimen, Harveywhispered excitedly when Johnson and the native were both in thekitchen, attending to the next course. He would make any societyhostess's season a riotous success, which should be worth a great sumto women like Mrs. van Schuyler-Morgan, merely for his hire. Think of a fast one fast, Joe agreed. You're right. But I dislike having to revise my opinion of a man so often,complained Harvey. I wish Johnson would stay either swindler or honestmerchant. This dinner is worth as least twenty buckos, yet I estimateour check at a mere bucko twenty redsents. The mayor's appearance prevented them from continuing the discussion. It's been a great honor, gents, he said. Ain't often I havevisitors, and I like the best, like you two gents. As if on cue, Genius came out and put the check down between Joe andHarvey. Harvey picked it up negligently, but his casual air vanished ina yelp of horror. What the devil is this? he shouted.—How do you arrive at thisfantastic, idiotic figure— three hundred and twenty-eight buckos ! <doc-sep>Johnson didn't answer. Neither did Genius; he simply put on the table,not a fingerbowl, but a magnifying glass. With one of his thirtyfingers he pointed politely to the bottom of the menu. Harvey focused on the microscopic print, and his face went pasty withrage. The minute note read: Services and entertainment, 327 buckos 80redsents. You can go to hell! Joe growled. We won't pay it! Johnson sighed ponderously. I was afraid you'd act like that, he saidwith regret. He pulled a tin badge out of his rear pocket, pinned it onhis vest, and twisted his holstered gun into view. Afraid I'll have toask the sheriff to take over. Johnson, the sheriff, collected the money, and Johnson, therestaurateur, pocketed it. Meanwhile, Harvey tipped Joe the sign toremain calm. My friend, he said to the mayor, and his tones took on aschoolmasterish severity, your long absence from Earth has perhapsmade you forget those elements of human wisdom that have entered thefolk-lore of your native planet. Such as, for example: 'It is follyto kill a goose that lays golden eggs,' and 'Penny wise is poundfoolish.' I don't get the connection, objected Johnson. Well, by obliging us to pay such a high price for your dinner, you putout of your reach the chance of profiting from a really substantialdeal. My partner and I were prepared to make you a sizable offer forthe peculiar creature you call Genius. But by reducing our funds theway you have— Who said I wanted to sell him? the mayor interrupted. He rubbed hisfingers together and asked disinterestedly: What were you going tooffer, anyhow? It doesn't matter any longer, Harvey said with elaboratecarelessness. Perhaps you wouldn't have accepted it, anyway. That's right, Johnson came back emphatically. But what would youroffer have been which I would have turned down? Which one? The one we were going to make, or the one we can make now? Either one. It don't make no difference. Genius is too valuable tosell. Oh, come now, Mr. Johnson. Don't tell me no amount of money wouldtempt you! Nope. But how much did you say? Ah, then you will consider releasing Genius! Well, I'll tell you something, said the mayor confidentially. Whenyou've got one thing, you've got one thing. But when you've got money,it's the same as having a lot of things. Because, if you've got money,you can buy this and that and this and that and— This and that, concluded Joe. We'll give you five hundred buckos. Now, gents! Johnson remonstrated. Why, six hundred would hardly— You haven't left us much money, Harvey put in. The mayor frowned. All right, we'll split the difference. Make itfive-fifty. Harvey was quick to pay out, for this was a genuine windfall. Then hestood up and admired the astonishing possession he had so inexpensivelyacquired. I really hate to deprive you of this unique creature, he said toJohnson. I should imagine you will be rather lonely, with only yourfilial mammoth to keep you company. I sure will, Johnson confessed glumly. I got pretty attached toGenius, and I'm going to miss him something awful. Harvey forcibly removed his eyes from the native, who was clearing offthe table almost all at once. My friend, he said, we take your only solace, it is true, but in hisplace we can offer something no less amazing and instructive. The mayor's hand went protectively to his pocket. What is it? heasked with the suspicion of a man who has seen human nature at itsworst and expects nothing better. Joseph, get our most prized belonging from the communications room ofthe ship, Harvey instructed. To Johnson he explained: You must seethe wondrous instrument before its value can be appreciated. My partnerwill soon have it here for your astonishment. Joe's face grew as glum as Johnson's had been. Aw, Harv, heprotested, do we have to sell it? And right when I thought we weregetting the key! We must not be selfish, my boy, Harvey said nobly. We have had ourchance; now we must relinquish Fate to the hands of a man who mighthave more success than we. Go, Joseph. Bring it here. Unwillingly, Joe turned and shuffled out. <doc-sep>On a larger and heavier world than Planetoid 42, Johnson's curiositywould probably have had weight and mass. He was bursting withquestions, but he was obviously afraid they would cost him money. Forhis part, Harvey allowed that curiosity to grow like a Venusian amoebauntil Joe came in, lugging a radio. Is that what you were talking about? the mayor snorted. What makesyou think I want a radio? I came here to get away from singers andpolitical speech-makers. Do not jump to hasty conclusions, Harvey cautioned. Another word,and I shall refuse you the greatest opportunity any man has ever had,with the sole exceptions of Joseph, myself and the unfortunate inventorof this absolutely awe-inspiring device. I ain't in the market for a radio, Johnson said stubbornly. Harvey nodded in relief. We have attempted to repay our host, Joseph.He has spurned our generosity. We have now the chance to continue ourstudy, which I am positive will soon reward us with the key to anenormous fortune. Well, that's no plating off our bow, Joe grunted. I'm glad he didturn it down. I hated to give it up after working on it for three wholeyears. He picked up the radio and began walking toward the door. Now, hold on! the mayor cried. I ain't saying I'll buy, but whatis it I'm turning down? Joe returned and set the instrument down on the bar. His facesorrowful, Harvey fondly stroked the scarred plasticoid cabinet. To make a long story, Mr. Johnson, he said, Joseph and I were amongthe chosen few who knew the famous Doctor Dean intimately. Just beforehis tragic death, you will recall, Dean allegedly went insane. Hebanged his fist on the bar. I have said it before, and I repeat again,that was a malicious lie, spread by the doctor's enemies to discredithis greatest invention—this fourth dimensional radio! This what? Johnson blurted out. In simple terms, clarified Harvey, the ingenious doctor discoveredthat the yawning chasm between the dimensions could be bridged byenergy of all quanta. There has never been any question that theinhabitants of the super-dimension would be far more civilized thanourselves. Consequently, the man who could tap their knowledge wouldfind himself in possession of a powerful, undreamt-of science! The mayor looked respectfully at the silent box on the bar. And this thing gets broadcasts from the fourth dimension? It does, Mr. Johnson! Only charlatans like those who envied DoctorDean's magnificent accomplishments could deny that fact. The mayor put his hands in his pockets, unswiveled one hip and staredthoughtfully at the battered cabinet. Well, let's say it picks up fourth dimensional broadcasts, heconceded. But how could you understand what they're saying? Folks upthere wouldn't talk our language. Again Harvey smashed his fist down. Do you dare to repeat the scurvylie that broke Dean's spirit and drove him to suicide? Johnson recoiled. No—no, of course not . I mean, being up here, Inaturally couldn't get all the details. Naturally, Harvey agreed, mollified. I'm sorry I lost my temper.But it is a matter of record that the doctor proved the broadcastsemanating from the super-dimension were in English! Why should that beso difficult to believe? Is it impossible that at one time there wascommunication between the dimensions, that the super-beings admiredour language and adopted it in all its beauty, adding to it their ownhyper-scientific trimmings? Why, I don't know, Johnson said in confusion. For three years, Joseph and I lost sleep and hair, trying to detectthe simple key that would translate the somewhat metamorphosedbroadcasts into our primitive English. It eluded us. Even the doctorfailed. But that was understandable; a sensitive soul like his couldstand only so much. And the combination of ridicule and failure tosolve the mystery caused him to take his own life. Johnson winced. Is that what you want to unload on me? For a very good reason, sir. Patience is the virtue that will berewarded with the key to these fourth dimensional broadcasts. A man whocould devote his life to improving this lonely worldlet is obviously aperson with unusual patience. Yeah, the mayor said grudgingly, I ain't exactly flighty. Therefore, you are the man who could unravel the problem! Johnson asked skeptically: How about a sample first? <doc-sep>Harvey turned a knob on the face of the scarred radio. After severalsqueals of spatial figures, a smooth voice began: There are omnious pleajes of moby-hailegs in sonmirand which,howgraismon, are notch to be donfured miss ellasellabell in either orboth hagasanipaj, by all means. This does not refly, on the brotherman, nat or mizzafil saces are denuded by this ossifaligo.... Harvey switched off the set determinedly. Wait a minute! Johnson begged. I almost got it then! I dislike being commercial, said Harvey, but this astounding devicestill belongs to us. Would we not be foolish to let you discover theclue before purchasing the right to do so? The mayor nodded indecisively, looking at the radio with agonizedlonging. How much do you want? he asked unhappily. One thousand buckos, and no haggling. I am not in the mood. Johnson opened his mouth to argue; then, seeing Harvey's set features,paid with the worst possible grace. Don't you think we ought to tell him about the batteries, Harv? Joeasked. What about the batteries? demanded Johnson with deadly calm. A very small matter, Harvey said airily. You see, we have beenanalyzing these broadcasts for three years. In that time, of course,the batteries are bound to weaken. I estimate these should last notless than one Terrestrial month, at the very least. What do I do then? Harvey shrugged. Special batteries are required, which I see Josephhas by chance brought along. For the batteries, the only ones of theirkind left in the system, I ask only what they cost—one hundred andninety-nine buckos, no more and, on the other hand, no less. Johnson was breathing hard, and his hand hovered dangerously near hisgun. But he paid the amount Harvey wanted. Moreover, he actually shook hands when the two panacea purveyorscollected their six-armed prize and said goodbye. Before they wereoutside, however, he had turned on the radio and was listening tenselyto a woman's highly cultured, though rather angry voice, saying: Oh, you hannaforge are all beasa-taga-sanimort. If you rue amount it,how do you respench a pure woman to ansver go-samak— I'll get it! they heard Johnson mutter. Then the sound of giant feet crossing the barroom floor reached theirears, and a shrill question: What's that, Papa? A fortune, Jed! Those fakers are damned fools, selling us a thinglike— Joe gazed at Harvey admiringly. Another one sold? Harv, that spielpulls them in like an ether storm! Together with the remarkable planetoid man, they reached the ship.Above them, dark, tumbling shapes blotted out the stars and silentlymoved on. Joe opened the gangway door. Come on in, pal, he said to Genius. We're shoving off. The planetoid man grinned foolishly. Can't go arong with you, he saidwith an apologetic manner. I rike to, but pressure fratten me out if Igo. What in solar blazes are you talking about? Harvey asked. I grow up on pranetoid, Genius explained. On big pranet, too muchpressure for me. The two salesmen looked narrowly at each other. Did Johnson know that when he sold you? Joe snarled. Oh, sure. The silly grin became wider than ever. Peopre from Earthbuy me rots of times. I never reave pranetoid, though. Joseph, Harvey said ominously, that slick colonist has put one overupon us. What is our customary procedure in that event? We tear him apart, Joe replied between his teeth. Not Mister Johnson, advised Genius. Have gun and badge. He shoot youfirst and then rock you up in prison. Harvey paused, his ominous air vanishing. True. There is also thefact, Joseph, that when he discovers the scrambled rectifier inthe radio we sold him, he will have been paid back in full for hisregrettable dishonesty. <doc-sep>Unwillingly, Joe agreed. While Genius retreated to a safe distance,they entered the ship and blasted off. Within a few minutes theautomatic steering pilot had maneuvered them above the plane of theasteroid belt. I got kind of dizzy, Joe said, there were so many deals back andforth. How much did we make on the sucker? A goodly amount, I wager, Harvey responded. He took out a pencil andpaper. Medicine, 469.50; radio, 1,000; batteries, 199. Total—let'ssee—1668 buckos and 50 redsents. A goodly sum, as I told you. He emptied his pockets of money, spread it out on the astrogation tableand began counting. Finished, he looked up, troubled. How much did we have when we landed, Joseph? Exactly 1668 buckos, Joe answered promptly. I can't understand it, said Harvey. Instead of double our capital,we now have only 1668 buckos and 50 redsents! Feverishly, he returned to his pencil and paper. Drinking water, 790; battery water, free; meal, 328; planetoid man,550. Total: 1668 buckos! He stared at the figures. We paid out almostas much as we took in, he said bitterly. Despite our intensiveefforts, we made the absurd sum of fifty redsents. Why, the dirty crook! Joe growled. But after a few moments of sad reflection, Harvey became philosophical.Perhaps, Joseph, we are more fortunate than we realize. We were,after all, completely in Johnson's power. The more I ponder, the moreI believe we were lucky to escape. And, anyhow, we did make fiftyredsents on the swindler. A moral victory, my boy. Joe, who had been sunk desparingly into a chair, now stood up slowlyand asked: Remember that bottle-opener we gave him? Certainly, Harvey explained. What about it? How much did it cost us? Harvey's eyebrows puckered. Suddenly he started laughing. You'reright, Joseph. We paid forty-six redsents for it on Venus. So, afterall that transacting of business, we made four redsents! Four redsents, hell! Joe snapped. That was the sales tax! He glared; then a smile lifted his mouth. You remember those yokels onMars' Flatlands, and the way they worshipped gold? Goldbricks! Harvey said succinctly. Grinning, Joe set the robot-controls for Mars. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story.

Planetoid 42 is a place without much to offer besides a port. It is heavily polluted, covered in plants that are similar to vines, and boasts only one saloon. It is home to only two humans, Johnson and his son Jeb, and Genius, a fantastic creature with six limbs that is unlike anything Joe and Harvey have ever seen before. The planet has gravity, which made it possible for Jed to grow to eight feet tall. Genius is also able to thrive on Planetoid 42 while he would perish on other planets with more gravity. Although Johnson says that the water must be purified so it doesn’t taste bitter, the truth is that there’s a large pool with sweet water on the planet. Johnson insists that he has to charge a lot of money for water in part because he has very few customers. The planet is mostly deserted and people only show up to his bar if they’re in trouble.Johnson makes the rules because he is in charge of everything. He is the sheriff, fire chief, mayor, justice of the peace, and restaurateur.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep>Scan the remainder of the world, Steiner, said Stark, and the restof us will get some sleep. If you find no other spot then we will godown on that one the next time it is in position under us, in abouttwelve hours. You don't want to visit any of the other areas first? Somewhere awayfrom the thoughtful creature? No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reasonthat thought is in one spot only. If we find no others then we will godown boldly and visit this. So they all, except Steiner, went off to their bunks then: Stark, theCaptain; Gregory Gilbert, the executive officer; Wolfgang Langweilig,the engineer; Casper Craig, super-cargo, tycoon and 51% owner of theLittle Probe, and F. R. Briton, S.J., a Jesuit priest who was linguistand checker champion of the craft. Dawn did not come to the moon-town. The Little Probe hovered stationaryin the light and the moon-town came up under the dawn. Then the Probewent down to visit whatever was there. There's no town, said Steiner. Not a building. Yet we're on thetrack of the minds. There's nothing but a meadow and some boscage, asort of fountain or pool, and four streams coming out of it. Keep on towards the minds, said Stark. They're our target. Not a building, not two sticks or stones placed together. That lookslike an Earth-type sheep there. And that looks like an Earth-lion,I'm almost afraid to say. And those two ... why, they could well beEarth-people. But with a difference. Where is that bright light comingfrom? I don't know, but they're right in the middle of it. Land here. We'llgo to meet them at once. Timidity has never been an efficacious toolwith us. Well, they were people. And one could only wish that all people werelike them. There was a man and a woman, and they were clothed eitherin very bright garments or in no garments at all, but only in a verybright light. Talk to them, Father Briton, said Stark. You are the linguist. Howdy, said the priest. He may or may not have been understood, but the two of them smiled athim, so he went on. Father Briton from Philadelphia, he said, on detached service. Andyou, my good man, what is your handle, your monicker, your tag? Ha-Adamah, said the man. And your daughter, or niece? It may be that the shining man frowned momentarily at this; but thewoman smiled, proving that she was human. The woman is named Hawwah, said the man. The sheep is named sheep,the lion is named lion, the horse is named horse and the hoolock isnamed hoolock. I understand. It is possible that this could go on and on. How is itthat you use the English tongue? I have only one tongue; but it is given to us to be understood by all;by the eagle, by the squirrel, by the ass, by the English. We happen to be bloody Yankees, but we use a borrowed tongue. Youwouldn't have a drink on you for a tubful of thirsty travellers, wouldyou? The fountain. Ah—I see. <doc-sep>But the crew all drank of the fountain to be sociable. It was water,but water that excelled, cool and with all its original bubbles likethe first water ever made. What do you make of them? asked Stark. Human, said Steiner. It may even be that they are a little more thanhuman. I don't understand that light that surrounds them. And they seemto be clothed, as it were, in dignity. And very little else, said Father Briton, though that light trickdoes serve a purpose. But I'm not sure they'd pass in Philadelphia. Talk to them again, said Stark. You're the linguist. That isn't necessary here, Captain. Talk to them yourself. Are there any other people here? Stark asked the man. The two of us. Man and woman. But are there any others? How would there be any others? What other kind of people could therebe than man and woman? But is there more than one man or woman? How could there be more than one of anything? The captain was a little puzzled by this, but he went on doggedly:Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people? You are not anything till I name you. But I will name you and thenyou can be. You are named Captain. He is named Priest. He is namedEngineer. He is named Flunky. Thanks a lot, said Steiner. But are we not people? persisted Captain Stark. No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there beother people? And the damnest thing about it, muttered Langweilig, is, how are yougoing to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling. Can we have something to eat? asked the Captain. Pick from the trees, said Ha-Adamah, and then it may be that youwill want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which doesnot need sleep or rest), it may be that you require respite. But youare free to enjoy the garden and its fruits. We will, said Captain Stark. They wandered about the place, but they were uneasy. There were theanimals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, thoughthey offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though theywanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you. If there are only two people here, said Casper Craig, then it may bethat the rest of the world is not dangerous at all. It looked fertilewherever we scanned it, though not so fertile as this central bit. Andthose rocks would bear examining. Flecked with gold, and possibly with something else, said Stark. Avery promising site. And everything grows here, added Steiner. Those are Earth-fruits andI never saw finer. I've tasted the grapes and plums and pears. The figsand dates are superb, the quince is as flavorsome as a quince can be,the cherries are excellent. And I never did taste such oranges. But Ihaven't yet tried the— and he stopped. If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think, said Gilbert, then itwill be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream orwhether this is reality. Go ahead and eat one. I won't be the first to eat one. You eat. Ask him first. You ask him. Ha-Adamah, is it allowed to eat the apples? Certainly. Eat. It is the finest fruit in the garden. <doc-sep>Well, the analogy breaks down there, said Stark. I was almostbeginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what.Father Briton, you are the linguist, but in Hebrew does not Ha-Adamahand Hawwah mean—? Of course they do. You know that as well as I. I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact sameproposition to maintain here as on Earth? All things are possible. And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: No,no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one! It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it. Once more, Father, said Stark, you should be the authority; but doesnot the idea that it was the apple that was forbidden go back only to amedieval painting? It does. The name of the fruit is not mentioned in Genesis. In Hebrewexegesis, however, the pomegranate is usually indicated. I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is tooincredible. It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here? Forever less six days is the answer that has been given to me. I neverdid understand the answer, however. And have you gotten no older in all that time? I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from thebeginning. And do you think that you will ever die? To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property offallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine. And are you completely happy here? Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taughtthat it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek itvainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing andeven death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taughtthat on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost. Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man? Yes, since I am the only man, and knowledge is natural to man. But Iam further blessed. I have a preternatural intellect. Then Stark cut in once more: There must be some one question you couldask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced. Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how abouta game of checkers? This is hardly the time for clowning, said Stark. I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice ofcolors and first move. No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect. Well, I beat a barber who was champion of Germantown. And I beat thechampion of Morgan County, Tennessee, which is the hottest checkercenter on Earth. I've played against, and beaten, machines. But Inever played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam,and have a go at it. No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you. <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave. What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark. The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off. A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness. I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil. I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection. So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited. <doc-sep>Down in the great cave that Old Serpent, a two-legged one among whosenames were Snake-Oil Sam, spoke to his underlings: It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'llhave time to overhaul the blasters. We haven't had any well-equippedsettlers for six weeks. It used to be we'd hardly have time to stripand slaughter and stow before there was another batch to take care of. I think you'd better write me some new lines, said Adam. I feel likea goof saying those same ones to each bunch. You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in showbusiness long enough to know never to change a line too soon. I didchange Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to thepomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becomingbetter researched, and they insist on authenticity. This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in humannature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks willwhoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and marit. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that isstrong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison whatis unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage ofthis trait. And when you start to farm a new world on a shoestring youhave to acquire your equipment as you can. He looked proudly around at the great cave with its mountains and tiersof materials, heavy machinery of all sorts, titanic crates of foodstuffspace-sealed; wheeled, tracked, propped, vaned and jetted vehicles; andpower packs to run a world. He looked at the three dozen space ships stripped and stacked, and atthe rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner. We will have to have another lion, said Eve. Bowser is getting old,and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to havea big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb. I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of thecrackpot settlers will bring a new lion. And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It'shell. I'm working on it. <doc-sep>Casper Craig was still dictating the gram: Amazing quality of longevity seemingly inherent in the locale. Climateideal. Daylight or half-light. All twenty-one hours from PlanetDelphina and from Sol. Pure water for all industrial purposes. Scenicand storied. Zoning and pre-settlement restrictions to insure congenialneighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm ofour own galaxy. Low taxes and liberal credit. Financing our specialty— And you had better have an armed escort when you return, said FatherBriton. Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort? It's as phony as a seven-credit note! You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced byour senses? Why do you doubt? It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds.Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible,zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot throughwith anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers. What? If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game ofcheckers with anyone. Yet there was an unusual mind there somewhere; itwas just that he chose not to make our acquaintance personally. They looked at the priest thoughtfully. But it was Paradise in one way, said Steiner at last. How? All the time we were there the woman did not speak. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

The story describes the crew of a probe spaceship as it investigates an extraterrestrial world. The crew is made up of Stark, Gilbert, Steiner, Langweilig, Craig, and Briton—the captain, executive officer, crewmember, engineer, part-owner of the probe, and a Catholic priest respectively.From orbit, the crew scans the moon using various technological instruments. They discover abundant highly developed life forms including a small location of sentient life, possibly of extraordinary magnitude. They descend to the moon’s surface near the location of the sentient life. They discover a multitude of plants and animals that are found on Earth, also finding two individuals that appear to be human, Ha-Adamah and Hawwah.Their investigation of the surroundings bears a startling resemblance to the biblical story of Genesis. The crew is bewildered to consider that this may indeed be a new Garden of Eden which never fell into sin and was preserved as a perfect paradise.After remaining for a few days, the crew returns to their probe. They remark how immoral it would be to meddle such an unspoiled paradise, but nevertheless begin the process of advertising the world to potential colonizers who would indeed exploit the moon for profit.Surprisingly, it is revealed that back on the planet that the individuals that were merely posing as Ha-Adamah and Hawwah working with their boss, Snake-oil Sam, to deceive potential colonists, ambushing them upon arrival and confiscating their valuable supplies and equipment.Back on the probe Father Briton chides the rest of the crew that they had been taken in by an obvious ruse and to inform any potential colonists to prepare for armed resistance. The incredulous crew demands to know the reasoning behind his conclusion. He casually says that besides what he contended were glaring inaccuracies, the fact that Ha-Adamah refused to play him in checkers despite claiming to have a preternaturally perfect intellect was all the proof he needed.

Describe the story's characters and how they interact. [SEP] <s> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep>Scan the remainder of the world, Steiner, said Stark, and the restof us will get some sleep. If you find no other spot then we will godown on that one the next time it is in position under us, in abouttwelve hours. You don't want to visit any of the other areas first? Somewhere awayfrom the thoughtful creature? No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reasonthat thought is in one spot only. If we find no others then we will godown boldly and visit this. So they all, except Steiner, went off to their bunks then: Stark, theCaptain; Gregory Gilbert, the executive officer; Wolfgang Langweilig,the engineer; Casper Craig, super-cargo, tycoon and 51% owner of theLittle Probe, and F. R. Briton, S.J., a Jesuit priest who was linguistand checker champion of the craft. Dawn did not come to the moon-town. The Little Probe hovered stationaryin the light and the moon-town came up under the dawn. Then the Probewent down to visit whatever was there. There's no town, said Steiner. Not a building. Yet we're on thetrack of the minds. There's nothing but a meadow and some boscage, asort of fountain or pool, and four streams coming out of it. Keep on towards the minds, said Stark. They're our target. Not a building, not two sticks or stones placed together. That lookslike an Earth-type sheep there. And that looks like an Earth-lion,I'm almost afraid to say. And those two ... why, they could well beEarth-people. But with a difference. Where is that bright light comingfrom? I don't know, but they're right in the middle of it. Land here. We'llgo to meet them at once. Timidity has never been an efficacious toolwith us. Well, they were people. And one could only wish that all people werelike them. There was a man and a woman, and they were clothed eitherin very bright garments or in no garments at all, but only in a verybright light. Talk to them, Father Briton, said Stark. You are the linguist. Howdy, said the priest. He may or may not have been understood, but the two of them smiled athim, so he went on. Father Briton from Philadelphia, he said, on detached service. Andyou, my good man, what is your handle, your monicker, your tag? Ha-Adamah, said the man. And your daughter, or niece? It may be that the shining man frowned momentarily at this; but thewoman smiled, proving that she was human. The woman is named Hawwah, said the man. The sheep is named sheep,the lion is named lion, the horse is named horse and the hoolock isnamed hoolock. I understand. It is possible that this could go on and on. How is itthat you use the English tongue? I have only one tongue; but it is given to us to be understood by all;by the eagle, by the squirrel, by the ass, by the English. We happen to be bloody Yankees, but we use a borrowed tongue. Youwouldn't have a drink on you for a tubful of thirsty travellers, wouldyou? The fountain. Ah—I see. <doc-sep>But the crew all drank of the fountain to be sociable. It was water,but water that excelled, cool and with all its original bubbles likethe first water ever made. What do you make of them? asked Stark. Human, said Steiner. It may even be that they are a little more thanhuman. I don't understand that light that surrounds them. And they seemto be clothed, as it were, in dignity. And very little else, said Father Briton, though that light trickdoes serve a purpose. But I'm not sure they'd pass in Philadelphia. Talk to them again, said Stark. You're the linguist. That isn't necessary here, Captain. Talk to them yourself. Are there any other people here? Stark asked the man. The two of us. Man and woman. But are there any others? How would there be any others? What other kind of people could therebe than man and woman? But is there more than one man or woman? How could there be more than one of anything? The captain was a little puzzled by this, but he went on doggedly:Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people? You are not anything till I name you. But I will name you and thenyou can be. You are named Captain. He is named Priest. He is namedEngineer. He is named Flunky. Thanks a lot, said Steiner. But are we not people? persisted Captain Stark. No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there beother people? And the damnest thing about it, muttered Langweilig, is, how are yougoing to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling. Can we have something to eat? asked the Captain. Pick from the trees, said Ha-Adamah, and then it may be that youwill want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which doesnot need sleep or rest), it may be that you require respite. But youare free to enjoy the garden and its fruits. We will, said Captain Stark. They wandered about the place, but they were uneasy. There were theanimals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, thoughthey offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though theywanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you. If there are only two people here, said Casper Craig, then it may bethat the rest of the world is not dangerous at all. It looked fertilewherever we scanned it, though not so fertile as this central bit. Andthose rocks would bear examining. Flecked with gold, and possibly with something else, said Stark. Avery promising site. And everything grows here, added Steiner. Those are Earth-fruits andI never saw finer. I've tasted the grapes and plums and pears. The figsand dates are superb, the quince is as flavorsome as a quince can be,the cherries are excellent. And I never did taste such oranges. But Ihaven't yet tried the— and he stopped. If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think, said Gilbert, then itwill be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream orwhether this is reality. Go ahead and eat one. I won't be the first to eat one. You eat. Ask him first. You ask him. Ha-Adamah, is it allowed to eat the apples? Certainly. Eat. It is the finest fruit in the garden. <doc-sep>Well, the analogy breaks down there, said Stark. I was almostbeginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what.Father Briton, you are the linguist, but in Hebrew does not Ha-Adamahand Hawwah mean—? Of course they do. You know that as well as I. I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact sameproposition to maintain here as on Earth? All things are possible. And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: No,no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one! It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it. Once more, Father, said Stark, you should be the authority; but doesnot the idea that it was the apple that was forbidden go back only to amedieval painting? It does. The name of the fruit is not mentioned in Genesis. In Hebrewexegesis, however, the pomegranate is usually indicated. I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is tooincredible. It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here? Forever less six days is the answer that has been given to me. I neverdid understand the answer, however. And have you gotten no older in all that time? I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from thebeginning. And do you think that you will ever die? To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property offallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine. And are you completely happy here? Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taughtthat it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek itvainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing andeven death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taughtthat on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost. Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man? Yes, since I am the only man, and knowledge is natural to man. But Iam further blessed. I have a preternatural intellect. Then Stark cut in once more: There must be some one question you couldask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced. Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how abouta game of checkers? This is hardly the time for clowning, said Stark. I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice ofcolors and first move. No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect. Well, I beat a barber who was champion of Germantown. And I beat thechampion of Morgan County, Tennessee, which is the hottest checkercenter on Earth. I've played against, and beaten, machines. But Inever played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam,and have a go at it. No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you. <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave. What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark. The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off. A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness. I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil. I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection. So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited. <doc-sep>Down in the great cave that Old Serpent, a two-legged one among whosenames were Snake-Oil Sam, spoke to his underlings: It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'llhave time to overhaul the blasters. We haven't had any well-equippedsettlers for six weeks. It used to be we'd hardly have time to stripand slaughter and stow before there was another batch to take care of. I think you'd better write me some new lines, said Adam. I feel likea goof saying those same ones to each bunch. You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in showbusiness long enough to know never to change a line too soon. I didchange Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to thepomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becomingbetter researched, and they insist on authenticity. This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in humannature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks willwhoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and marit. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that isstrong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison whatis unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage ofthis trait. And when you start to farm a new world on a shoestring youhave to acquire your equipment as you can. He looked proudly around at the great cave with its mountains and tiersof materials, heavy machinery of all sorts, titanic crates of foodstuffspace-sealed; wheeled, tracked, propped, vaned and jetted vehicles; andpower packs to run a world. He looked at the three dozen space ships stripped and stacked, and atthe rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner. We will have to have another lion, said Eve. Bowser is getting old,and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to havea big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb. I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of thecrackpot settlers will bring a new lion. And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It'shell. I'm working on it. <doc-sep>Casper Craig was still dictating the gram: Amazing quality of longevity seemingly inherent in the locale. Climateideal. Daylight or half-light. All twenty-one hours from PlanetDelphina and from Sol. Pure water for all industrial purposes. Scenicand storied. Zoning and pre-settlement restrictions to insure congenialneighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm ofour own galaxy. Low taxes and liberal credit. Financing our specialty— And you had better have an armed escort when you return, said FatherBriton. Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort? It's as phony as a seven-credit note! You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced byour senses? Why do you doubt? It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds.Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible,zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot throughwith anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers. What? If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game ofcheckers with anyone. Yet there was an unusual mind there somewhere; itwas just that he chose not to make our acquaintance personally. They looked at the priest thoughtfully. But it was Paradise in one way, said Steiner at last. How? All the time we were there the woman did not speak. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the story's characters and how they interact.

There are two main groups of characters: the crew of the Little Probe and the inhabitants of the “Garden” world.The crew of the Little Probe consist of Stark, the captain; Gilbert, the executive officer; Steiner, a generall crewmember “flunky”; Langweilig, the engineer; Craig, a businessman and part-owner of the ship; and Fr. Briton, priest, linguist, and checkers afficionado. Stark is the leader of the group, commanding the others to their various tasks. Craig is shown to be a shrewd entrepreneur who is most intent on reaping potential profit from the situation they find themselves in.On the moon lives Ha-Adamah and Hawwah who present themselves as archetypes of the biblical Adam and Eve. In reality, they are settlers, attempting to gather supplies to farm this world by stealing supplies from other settlers that they entice to world and then ambush. They are commanded by Snake-Oil Sam, a cynical, former showbusiness professional who runs the con.The two groups interact when the crew descends to the surface of the moon. Ha-Adamah describes his environment in casual but bewildering terms to his visitors. Briton, as a Catholic priest, is designated by the crew to be Ha-Adamah’s main interlocutor. Hawwah, notedly does not speak at all—a flourish to attempt to further depict the attractiveness of the world to their all-male visitors. The crew beside Briton are enamored by the environment of the moon and are totally taken in by the performance of their hosts. The story concludes with Briton chiding his crewmates for their gullibility. Although Briton perhaps had the most reason to believe the moon was divinely ordained, he saw through the charade without much difficulty.

Describe the setting of the story. [SEP] <s> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep>Scan the remainder of the world, Steiner, said Stark, and the restof us will get some sleep. If you find no other spot then we will godown on that one the next time it is in position under us, in abouttwelve hours. You don't want to visit any of the other areas first? Somewhere awayfrom the thoughtful creature? No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reasonthat thought is in one spot only. If we find no others then we will godown boldly and visit this. So they all, except Steiner, went off to their bunks then: Stark, theCaptain; Gregory Gilbert, the executive officer; Wolfgang Langweilig,the engineer; Casper Craig, super-cargo, tycoon and 51% owner of theLittle Probe, and F. R. Briton, S.J., a Jesuit priest who was linguistand checker champion of the craft. Dawn did not come to the moon-town. The Little Probe hovered stationaryin the light and the moon-town came up under the dawn. Then the Probewent down to visit whatever was there. There's no town, said Steiner. Not a building. Yet we're on thetrack of the minds. There's nothing but a meadow and some boscage, asort of fountain or pool, and four streams coming out of it. Keep on towards the minds, said Stark. They're our target. Not a building, not two sticks or stones placed together. That lookslike an Earth-type sheep there. And that looks like an Earth-lion,I'm almost afraid to say. And those two ... why, they could well beEarth-people. But with a difference. Where is that bright light comingfrom? I don't know, but they're right in the middle of it. Land here. We'llgo to meet them at once. Timidity has never been an efficacious toolwith us. Well, they were people. And one could only wish that all people werelike them. There was a man and a woman, and they were clothed eitherin very bright garments or in no garments at all, but only in a verybright light. Talk to them, Father Briton, said Stark. You are the linguist. Howdy, said the priest. He may or may not have been understood, but the two of them smiled athim, so he went on. Father Briton from Philadelphia, he said, on detached service. Andyou, my good man, what is your handle, your monicker, your tag? Ha-Adamah, said the man. And your daughter, or niece? It may be that the shining man frowned momentarily at this; but thewoman smiled, proving that she was human. The woman is named Hawwah, said the man. The sheep is named sheep,the lion is named lion, the horse is named horse and the hoolock isnamed hoolock. I understand. It is possible that this could go on and on. How is itthat you use the English tongue? I have only one tongue; but it is given to us to be understood by all;by the eagle, by the squirrel, by the ass, by the English. We happen to be bloody Yankees, but we use a borrowed tongue. Youwouldn't have a drink on you for a tubful of thirsty travellers, wouldyou? The fountain. Ah—I see. <doc-sep>But the crew all drank of the fountain to be sociable. It was water,but water that excelled, cool and with all its original bubbles likethe first water ever made. What do you make of them? asked Stark. Human, said Steiner. It may even be that they are a little more thanhuman. I don't understand that light that surrounds them. And they seemto be clothed, as it were, in dignity. And very little else, said Father Briton, though that light trickdoes serve a purpose. But I'm not sure they'd pass in Philadelphia. Talk to them again, said Stark. You're the linguist. That isn't necessary here, Captain. Talk to them yourself. Are there any other people here? Stark asked the man. The two of us. Man and woman. But are there any others? How would there be any others? What other kind of people could therebe than man and woman? But is there more than one man or woman? How could there be more than one of anything? The captain was a little puzzled by this, but he went on doggedly:Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people? You are not anything till I name you. But I will name you and thenyou can be. You are named Captain. He is named Priest. He is namedEngineer. He is named Flunky. Thanks a lot, said Steiner. But are we not people? persisted Captain Stark. No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there beother people? And the damnest thing about it, muttered Langweilig, is, how are yougoing to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling. Can we have something to eat? asked the Captain. Pick from the trees, said Ha-Adamah, and then it may be that youwill want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which doesnot need sleep or rest), it may be that you require respite. But youare free to enjoy the garden and its fruits. We will, said Captain Stark. They wandered about the place, but they were uneasy. There were theanimals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, thoughthey offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though theywanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you. If there are only two people here, said Casper Craig, then it may bethat the rest of the world is not dangerous at all. It looked fertilewherever we scanned it, though not so fertile as this central bit. Andthose rocks would bear examining. Flecked with gold, and possibly with something else, said Stark. Avery promising site. And everything grows here, added Steiner. Those are Earth-fruits andI never saw finer. I've tasted the grapes and plums and pears. The figsand dates are superb, the quince is as flavorsome as a quince can be,the cherries are excellent. And I never did taste such oranges. But Ihaven't yet tried the— and he stopped. If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think, said Gilbert, then itwill be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream orwhether this is reality. Go ahead and eat one. I won't be the first to eat one. You eat. Ask him first. You ask him. Ha-Adamah, is it allowed to eat the apples? Certainly. Eat. It is the finest fruit in the garden. <doc-sep>Well, the analogy breaks down there, said Stark. I was almostbeginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what.Father Briton, you are the linguist, but in Hebrew does not Ha-Adamahand Hawwah mean—? Of course they do. You know that as well as I. I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact sameproposition to maintain here as on Earth? All things are possible. And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: No,no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one! It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it. Once more, Father, said Stark, you should be the authority; but doesnot the idea that it was the apple that was forbidden go back only to amedieval painting? It does. The name of the fruit is not mentioned in Genesis. In Hebrewexegesis, however, the pomegranate is usually indicated. I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is tooincredible. It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here? Forever less six days is the answer that has been given to me. I neverdid understand the answer, however. And have you gotten no older in all that time? I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from thebeginning. And do you think that you will ever die? To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property offallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine. And are you completely happy here? Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taughtthat it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek itvainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing andeven death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taughtthat on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost. Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man? Yes, since I am the only man, and knowledge is natural to man. But Iam further blessed. I have a preternatural intellect. Then Stark cut in once more: There must be some one question you couldask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced. Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how abouta game of checkers? This is hardly the time for clowning, said Stark. I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice ofcolors and first move. No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect. Well, I beat a barber who was champion of Germantown. And I beat thechampion of Morgan County, Tennessee, which is the hottest checkercenter on Earth. I've played against, and beaten, machines. But Inever played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam,and have a go at it. No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you. <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave. What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark. The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off. A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness. I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil. I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection. So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited. <doc-sep>Down in the great cave that Old Serpent, a two-legged one among whosenames were Snake-Oil Sam, spoke to his underlings: It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'llhave time to overhaul the blasters. We haven't had any well-equippedsettlers for six weeks. It used to be we'd hardly have time to stripand slaughter and stow before there was another batch to take care of. I think you'd better write me some new lines, said Adam. I feel likea goof saying those same ones to each bunch. You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in showbusiness long enough to know never to change a line too soon. I didchange Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to thepomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becomingbetter researched, and they insist on authenticity. This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in humannature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks willwhoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and marit. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that isstrong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison whatis unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage ofthis trait. And when you start to farm a new world on a shoestring youhave to acquire your equipment as you can. He looked proudly around at the great cave with its mountains and tiersof materials, heavy machinery of all sorts, titanic crates of foodstuffspace-sealed; wheeled, tracked, propped, vaned and jetted vehicles; andpower packs to run a world. He looked at the three dozen space ships stripped and stacked, and atthe rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner. We will have to have another lion, said Eve. Bowser is getting old,and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to havea big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb. I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of thecrackpot settlers will bring a new lion. And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It'shell. I'm working on it. <doc-sep>Casper Craig was still dictating the gram: Amazing quality of longevity seemingly inherent in the locale. Climateideal. Daylight or half-light. All twenty-one hours from PlanetDelphina and from Sol. Pure water for all industrial purposes. Scenicand storied. Zoning and pre-settlement restrictions to insure congenialneighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm ofour own galaxy. Low taxes and liberal credit. Financing our specialty— And you had better have an armed escort when you return, said FatherBriton. Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort? It's as phony as a seven-credit note! You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced byour senses? Why do you doubt? It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds.Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible,zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot throughwith anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers. What? If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game ofcheckers with anyone. Yet there was an unusual mind there somewhere; itwas just that he chose not to make our acquaintance personally. They looked at the priest thoughtfully. But it was Paradise in one way, said Steiner at last. How? All the time we were there the woman did not speak. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story.

The story takes place on an unnamed extraterrestrial moon and a small probe that is visiting the moon to investigate its suitability for development. The moon is an earthlike environment that appears to be a perfect paradise in every respect. The land is fertile, the wild animals are domesticated, and there is an abundance of fruit to eat and minerals to potentially harvest. The description of the world that the crew receives depicts it as a true Eden—a perfect paradise. Also on the moon is a massive cave, from where the inhabitants of the moon store their stolen goods and prepare to ambush unsuspecting potential settlers.

How do religion and religious faith contribute to the story? [SEP] <s> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep>Scan the remainder of the world, Steiner, said Stark, and the restof us will get some sleep. If you find no other spot then we will godown on that one the next time it is in position under us, in abouttwelve hours. You don't want to visit any of the other areas first? Somewhere awayfrom the thoughtful creature? No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reasonthat thought is in one spot only. If we find no others then we will godown boldly and visit this. So they all, except Steiner, went off to their bunks then: Stark, theCaptain; Gregory Gilbert, the executive officer; Wolfgang Langweilig,the engineer; Casper Craig, super-cargo, tycoon and 51% owner of theLittle Probe, and F. R. Briton, S.J., a Jesuit priest who was linguistand checker champion of the craft. Dawn did not come to the moon-town. The Little Probe hovered stationaryin the light and the moon-town came up under the dawn. Then the Probewent down to visit whatever was there. There's no town, said Steiner. Not a building. Yet we're on thetrack of the minds. There's nothing but a meadow and some boscage, asort of fountain or pool, and four streams coming out of it. Keep on towards the minds, said Stark. They're our target. Not a building, not two sticks or stones placed together. That lookslike an Earth-type sheep there. And that looks like an Earth-lion,I'm almost afraid to say. And those two ... why, they could well beEarth-people. But with a difference. Where is that bright light comingfrom? I don't know, but they're right in the middle of it. Land here. We'llgo to meet them at once. Timidity has never been an efficacious toolwith us. Well, they were people. And one could only wish that all people werelike them. There was a man and a woman, and they were clothed eitherin very bright garments or in no garments at all, but only in a verybright light. Talk to them, Father Briton, said Stark. You are the linguist. Howdy, said the priest. He may or may not have been understood, but the two of them smiled athim, so he went on. Father Briton from Philadelphia, he said, on detached service. Andyou, my good man, what is your handle, your monicker, your tag? Ha-Adamah, said the man. And your daughter, or niece? It may be that the shining man frowned momentarily at this; but thewoman smiled, proving that she was human. The woman is named Hawwah, said the man. The sheep is named sheep,the lion is named lion, the horse is named horse and the hoolock isnamed hoolock. I understand. It is possible that this could go on and on. How is itthat you use the English tongue? I have only one tongue; but it is given to us to be understood by all;by the eagle, by the squirrel, by the ass, by the English. We happen to be bloody Yankees, but we use a borrowed tongue. Youwouldn't have a drink on you for a tubful of thirsty travellers, wouldyou? The fountain. Ah—I see. <doc-sep>But the crew all drank of the fountain to be sociable. It was water,but water that excelled, cool and with all its original bubbles likethe first water ever made. What do you make of them? asked Stark. Human, said Steiner. It may even be that they are a little more thanhuman. I don't understand that light that surrounds them. And they seemto be clothed, as it were, in dignity. And very little else, said Father Briton, though that light trickdoes serve a purpose. But I'm not sure they'd pass in Philadelphia. Talk to them again, said Stark. You're the linguist. That isn't necessary here, Captain. Talk to them yourself. Are there any other people here? Stark asked the man. The two of us. Man and woman. But are there any others? How would there be any others? What other kind of people could therebe than man and woman? But is there more than one man or woman? How could there be more than one of anything? The captain was a little puzzled by this, but he went on doggedly:Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people? You are not anything till I name you. But I will name you and thenyou can be. You are named Captain. He is named Priest. He is namedEngineer. He is named Flunky. Thanks a lot, said Steiner. But are we not people? persisted Captain Stark. No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there beother people? And the damnest thing about it, muttered Langweilig, is, how are yougoing to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling. Can we have something to eat? asked the Captain. Pick from the trees, said Ha-Adamah, and then it may be that youwill want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which doesnot need sleep or rest), it may be that you require respite. But youare free to enjoy the garden and its fruits. We will, said Captain Stark. They wandered about the place, but they were uneasy. There were theanimals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, thoughthey offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though theywanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you. If there are only two people here, said Casper Craig, then it may bethat the rest of the world is not dangerous at all. It looked fertilewherever we scanned it, though not so fertile as this central bit. Andthose rocks would bear examining. Flecked with gold, and possibly with something else, said Stark. Avery promising site. And everything grows here, added Steiner. Those are Earth-fruits andI never saw finer. I've tasted the grapes and plums and pears. The figsand dates are superb, the quince is as flavorsome as a quince can be,the cherries are excellent. And I never did taste such oranges. But Ihaven't yet tried the— and he stopped. If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think, said Gilbert, then itwill be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream orwhether this is reality. Go ahead and eat one. I won't be the first to eat one. You eat. Ask him first. You ask him. Ha-Adamah, is it allowed to eat the apples? Certainly. Eat. It is the finest fruit in the garden. <doc-sep>Well, the analogy breaks down there, said Stark. I was almostbeginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what.Father Briton, you are the linguist, but in Hebrew does not Ha-Adamahand Hawwah mean—? Of course they do. You know that as well as I. I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact sameproposition to maintain here as on Earth? All things are possible. And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: No,no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one! It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it. Once more, Father, said Stark, you should be the authority; but doesnot the idea that it was the apple that was forbidden go back only to amedieval painting? It does. The name of the fruit is not mentioned in Genesis. In Hebrewexegesis, however, the pomegranate is usually indicated. I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is tooincredible. It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here? Forever less six days is the answer that has been given to me. I neverdid understand the answer, however. And have you gotten no older in all that time? I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from thebeginning. And do you think that you will ever die? To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property offallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine. And are you completely happy here? Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taughtthat it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek itvainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing andeven death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taughtthat on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost. Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man? Yes, since I am the only man, and knowledge is natural to man. But Iam further blessed. I have a preternatural intellect. Then Stark cut in once more: There must be some one question you couldask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced. Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how abouta game of checkers? This is hardly the time for clowning, said Stark. I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice ofcolors and first move. No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect. Well, I beat a barber who was champion of Germantown. And I beat thechampion of Morgan County, Tennessee, which is the hottest checkercenter on Earth. I've played against, and beaten, machines. But Inever played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam,and have a go at it. No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you. <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave. What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark. The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off. A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness. I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil. I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection. So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited. <doc-sep>Down in the great cave that Old Serpent, a two-legged one among whosenames were Snake-Oil Sam, spoke to his underlings: It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'llhave time to overhaul the blasters. We haven't had any well-equippedsettlers for six weeks. It used to be we'd hardly have time to stripand slaughter and stow before there was another batch to take care of. I think you'd better write me some new lines, said Adam. I feel likea goof saying those same ones to each bunch. You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in showbusiness long enough to know never to change a line too soon. I didchange Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to thepomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becomingbetter researched, and they insist on authenticity. This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in humannature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks willwhoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and marit. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that isstrong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison whatis unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage ofthis trait. And when you start to farm a new world on a shoestring youhave to acquire your equipment as you can. He looked proudly around at the great cave with its mountains and tiersof materials, heavy machinery of all sorts, titanic crates of foodstuffspace-sealed; wheeled, tracked, propped, vaned and jetted vehicles; andpower packs to run a world. He looked at the three dozen space ships stripped and stacked, and atthe rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner. We will have to have another lion, said Eve. Bowser is getting old,and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to havea big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb. I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of thecrackpot settlers will bring a new lion. And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It'shell. I'm working on it. <doc-sep>Casper Craig was still dictating the gram: Amazing quality of longevity seemingly inherent in the locale. Climateideal. Daylight or half-light. All twenty-one hours from PlanetDelphina and from Sol. Pure water for all industrial purposes. Scenicand storied. Zoning and pre-settlement restrictions to insure congenialneighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm ofour own galaxy. Low taxes and liberal credit. Financing our specialty— And you had better have an armed escort when you return, said FatherBriton. Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort? It's as phony as a seven-credit note! You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced byour senses? Why do you doubt? It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds.Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible,zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot throughwith anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers. What? If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game ofcheckers with anyone. Yet there was an unusual mind there somewhere; itwas just that he chose not to make our acquaintance personally. They looked at the priest thoughtfully. But it was Paradise in one way, said Steiner at last. How? All the time we were there the woman did not speak. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do religion and religious faith contribute to the story?

Christianity is a central component of the story. The heart of the narrative revolves around the description of the world as a replica of the biblical Garden of Eden. The author goes into extensive detail regarding the aspects of the garden and its inhabitants and how they conform to aspects of the Genesis narrative and how it was understood by religious analysis. It is heavily suggested that here, the Serpent did not succeed in convincing man to sin and fall from grace as was the case in the biblical narrative. As a result, Ha-Adamah and Hawwah (the Hebrew names for Adam and Eve) remain clothed in light and still enjoy the preternatural gifts of creation including a highly advanced intellect, immortality and even an illuminated appearance.It is revealed that this depiction is a deception on the part of the moon’s inhabitants. Interestingly, the 4 non-believers on the crew are the most ready to believe that the state of affairs on the planet is indeed supernatural. It is only the clever priest who possesses faith, but employs the skepticism necessary to see through the fraud.

How is human fallenness explored as a theme? [SEP] <s> IT WAS A DULL, ROUTINE LITTLE WORLD. IT DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A CITY. EVERYTHING IT HAD WAS IN THE GARDEN BY R. A. LAFFERTY [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The protozoic recorder chirped like a bird. Not only would there belife traces on that little moon, but it would be a lively place. Sothey skipped several steps in the procedure. The chordata discerner read Positive over most of the surface. Therewas spinal fluid on that orb, rivers of it. So again they omittedseveral tests and went to the cognition scanner. Would it show Thoughton the body? Naturally they did not get results at once, nor did they expect to; itrequired a fine adjustment. But they were disappointed that they foundnothing for several hours as they hovered high over the rotation. Thenit came—clearly and definitely, but from quite a small location only. Limited, said Steiner, as though within a pale. As though there werebut one city, if that is its form. Shall we follow the rest of thesurface to find another, or concentrate on this? It'll be twelve hoursbefore it's back in our ken if we let it go now. Let's lock on this one and finish the scan. Then we can do the rest ofthe world to make sure we've missed nothing, said Stark. There was one more test to run, one very tricky and difficult ofanalysis, that with the Extraordinary Perception Locator. This wasdesigned simply to locate a source of superior thought. But this mightbe so varied or so unfamiliar that often both the machine and thedesigner of it were puzzled as to how to read the results. The E. P. Locator had been designed by Glaser. But when the Locatorhad refused to read Positive when turned on the inventor himself,bad blood developed between machine and man. Glaser knew that he hadextraordinary perception. He was a much honored man in his field. Hetold the machine so heatedly. The machine replied, with such warmth that its relays chattered, thatGlaser did not have extraordinary perception; he had only ordinaryperception to an extraordinary degree. There is a difference , themachine insisted. It was for this reason that Glaser used that model no more, but builtothers more amenable. And it was for this reason also that the ownersof Little Probe had acquired the original machine so cheaply. And there was no denying that the Extraordinary Perception Locator (orEppel) was a contrary machine. On Earth it had read Positive on anumber of crack-pots, including Waxey Sax, a jazz tootler who could noteven read music. But it had also read Positive on ninety per cent ofthe acknowledged superior minds of the Earth. In space it had been asound guide to the unusual intelligences encountered. Yet on Suzuki-Miit had read Positive on a two-inch-long worm, only one of them out ofbillions. For the countless identical worms no trace of anything at allwas shown by the test. So it was with mixed expectations that Steiner locked onto the areaand got a flick. He then narrowed to a smaller area (apparently oneindividual, though this could not be certain) and got very definiteaction. Eppel was busy. The machine had a touch of the ham in it, andassumed an air of importance when it ran these tests. Finally it signaled the result, the most exasperating result it everproduces: the single orange light. It was the equivalent of the shrugof the shoulders in a man. They called it the You tell me light. So among the intelligences there was at least one that might beextraordinary, though possibly in a crackpot way. It is good to beforewarned. <doc-sep>Scan the remainder of the world, Steiner, said Stark, and the restof us will get some sleep. If you find no other spot then we will godown on that one the next time it is in position under us, in abouttwelve hours. You don't want to visit any of the other areas first? Somewhere awayfrom the thoughtful creature? No. The rest of the world may be dangerous. There must be a reasonthat thought is in one spot only. If we find no others then we will godown boldly and visit this. So they all, except Steiner, went off to their bunks then: Stark, theCaptain; Gregory Gilbert, the executive officer; Wolfgang Langweilig,the engineer; Casper Craig, super-cargo, tycoon and 51% owner of theLittle Probe, and F. R. Briton, S.J., a Jesuit priest who was linguistand checker champion of the craft. Dawn did not come to the moon-town. The Little Probe hovered stationaryin the light and the moon-town came up under the dawn. Then the Probewent down to visit whatever was there. There's no town, said Steiner. Not a building. Yet we're on thetrack of the minds. There's nothing but a meadow and some boscage, asort of fountain or pool, and four streams coming out of it. Keep on towards the minds, said Stark. They're our target. Not a building, not two sticks or stones placed together. That lookslike an Earth-type sheep there. And that looks like an Earth-lion,I'm almost afraid to say. And those two ... why, they could well beEarth-people. But with a difference. Where is that bright light comingfrom? I don't know, but they're right in the middle of it. Land here. We'llgo to meet them at once. Timidity has never been an efficacious toolwith us. Well, they were people. And one could only wish that all people werelike them. There was a man and a woman, and they were clothed eitherin very bright garments or in no garments at all, but only in a verybright light. Talk to them, Father Briton, said Stark. You are the linguist. Howdy, said the priest. He may or may not have been understood, but the two of them smiled athim, so he went on. Father Briton from Philadelphia, he said, on detached service. Andyou, my good man, what is your handle, your monicker, your tag? Ha-Adamah, said the man. And your daughter, or niece? It may be that the shining man frowned momentarily at this; but thewoman smiled, proving that she was human. The woman is named Hawwah, said the man. The sheep is named sheep,the lion is named lion, the horse is named horse and the hoolock isnamed hoolock. I understand. It is possible that this could go on and on. How is itthat you use the English tongue? I have only one tongue; but it is given to us to be understood by all;by the eagle, by the squirrel, by the ass, by the English. We happen to be bloody Yankees, but we use a borrowed tongue. Youwouldn't have a drink on you for a tubful of thirsty travellers, wouldyou? The fountain. Ah—I see. <doc-sep>But the crew all drank of the fountain to be sociable. It was water,but water that excelled, cool and with all its original bubbles likethe first water ever made. What do you make of them? asked Stark. Human, said Steiner. It may even be that they are a little more thanhuman. I don't understand that light that surrounds them. And they seemto be clothed, as it were, in dignity. And very little else, said Father Briton, though that light trickdoes serve a purpose. But I'm not sure they'd pass in Philadelphia. Talk to them again, said Stark. You're the linguist. That isn't necessary here, Captain. Talk to them yourself. Are there any other people here? Stark asked the man. The two of us. Man and woman. But are there any others? How would there be any others? What other kind of people could therebe than man and woman? But is there more than one man or woman? How could there be more than one of anything? The captain was a little puzzled by this, but he went on doggedly:Ha-Adamah, what do you think that we are? Are we not people? You are not anything till I name you. But I will name you and thenyou can be. You are named Captain. He is named Priest. He is namedEngineer. He is named Flunky. Thanks a lot, said Steiner. But are we not people? persisted Captain Stark. No. We are the people. There are no people but two. How could there beother people? And the damnest thing about it, muttered Langweilig, is, how are yougoing to prove him wrong? But it does give you a small feeling. Can we have something to eat? asked the Captain. Pick from the trees, said Ha-Adamah, and then it may be that youwill want to sleep on the grass. Being not of human nature (which doesnot need sleep or rest), it may be that you require respite. But youare free to enjoy the garden and its fruits. We will, said Captain Stark. They wandered about the place, but they were uneasy. There were theanimals. The lion and lioness were enough to make one cautious, thoughthey offered no harm. The two bears had a puzzling look, as though theywanted either to frolic with you or to mangle you. If there are only two people here, said Casper Craig, then it may bethat the rest of the world is not dangerous at all. It looked fertilewherever we scanned it, though not so fertile as this central bit. Andthose rocks would bear examining. Flecked with gold, and possibly with something else, said Stark. Avery promising site. And everything grows here, added Steiner. Those are Earth-fruits andI never saw finer. I've tasted the grapes and plums and pears. The figsand dates are superb, the quince is as flavorsome as a quince can be,the cherries are excellent. And I never did taste such oranges. But Ihaven't yet tried the— and he stopped. If you're thinking what I'm afraid to think, said Gilbert, then itwill be the test at least: whether we're having a pleasant dream orwhether this is reality. Go ahead and eat one. I won't be the first to eat one. You eat. Ask him first. You ask him. Ha-Adamah, is it allowed to eat the apples? Certainly. Eat. It is the finest fruit in the garden. <doc-sep>Well, the analogy breaks down there, said Stark. I was almostbeginning to believe in the thing. But if it isn't that, then what.Father Briton, you are the linguist, but in Hebrew does not Ha-Adamahand Hawwah mean—? Of course they do. You know that as well as I. I was never a believer. But would it be possible for the exact sameproposition to maintain here as on Earth? All things are possible. And it was then that Ha-Adamah, the shining man, gave a wild cry: No,no. Do not approach it. It is not allowed to eat of that one! It was the pomegranate tree, and he was warning Langweilig away from it. Once more, Father, said Stark, you should be the authority; but doesnot the idea that it was the apple that was forbidden go back only to amedieval painting? It does. The name of the fruit is not mentioned in Genesis. In Hebrewexegesis, however, the pomegranate is usually indicated. I thought so. Question the man further, Father. This is tooincredible. It is a little odd. Adam, old man, how long have you been here? Forever less six days is the answer that has been given to me. I neverdid understand the answer, however. And have you gotten no older in all that time? I do not understand what 'older' is. I am as I have been from thebeginning. And do you think that you will ever die? To die I do not understand. I am taught that it is a property offallen nature to die, and that does not pertain to me or mine. And are you completely happy here? Perfectly happy according to my preternatural state. But I am taughtthat it might be possible to lose that happiness, and then to seek itvainly through all the ages. I am taught that sickness and ageing andeven death could come if this happiness were ever lost. I am taughtthat on at least one other unfortunate world it has actually been lost. Do you consider yourself a knowledgeable man? Yes, since I am the only man, and knowledge is natural to man. But Iam further blessed. I have a preternatural intellect. Then Stark cut in once more: There must be some one question you couldask him, Father. Some way to settle it. I am becoming nearly convinced. Yes, there is a question that will settle it. Adam, old man, how abouta game of checkers? This is hardly the time for clowning, said Stark. I'm not clowning, Captain. How about it, Adam? I'll give you choice ofcolors and first move. No. It would be no contest. I have a preternatural intellect. Well, I beat a barber who was champion of Germantown. And I beat thechampion of Morgan County, Tennessee, which is the hottest checkercenter on Earth. I've played against, and beaten, machines. But Inever played a preternatural mind. Let's just set up the board, Adam,and have a go at it. No. It would be no contest. I would not like to humble you. <doc-sep>They were there for three days. They were delighted with the place.It was a world with everything, and it seemed to have only twoinhabitants. They went everywhere except into the big cave. What is there, Adam? asked Captain Stark. The great serpent lives there. I would not disturb him. He has longbeen cranky because plans he had for us did not materialize. But weare taught that should ever evil come to us, which it cannot if wepersevere, it will come by him. They learned no more of the real nature of the sphere in their timethere. Yet all but one of them were convinced of the reality when theyleft. And they talked of it as they took off. A crowd would laugh if told of it, said Stark, but not many wouldlaugh if they had actually seen the place, or them. I am not a gullibleman, but I am convinced of this: that this is a pristine and pure worldand that ours and all the others we have visited are fallen worlds.Here are the prototypes of our first parents before their fall. Theyare garbed in light and innocence, and they have the happiness thatwe have been seeking for centuries. It would be a crime if anyonedisturbed that happiness. I too am convinced, said Steiner. It is Paradise itself, where thelion lies down with the lamb, and where the serpent has not prevailed.It would be the darkest of crimes if we or others should play the partof the serpent, and intrude and spoil. I am probably the most skeptical man in the world, said Casper Craigthe tycoon, but I do believe my eyes. I have been there and seen it.It is indeed an unspoiled Paradise; and it would be a crime calling tothe wide heavens for vengeance for anyone to smirch in any way thatperfection. So much for that. Now to business. Gilbert, take a gram: NinetyMillion Square Miles of Pristine Paradise for Sale or Lease. Farming,Ranching, exceptional opportunities for Horticulture. Gold, Silver,Iron, Earth-Type Fauna. Terms. Special Rates for Large SettlementParties. Write, Gram, or call in person at any of our planetary officesas listed below. Ask for Brochure—Eden Acres Unlimited. <doc-sep>Down in the great cave that Old Serpent, a two-legged one among whosenames were Snake-Oil Sam, spoke to his underlings: It'll take them fourteen days to get back with the settlers. We'llhave time to overhaul the blasters. We haven't had any well-equippedsettlers for six weeks. It used to be we'd hardly have time to stripand slaughter and stow before there was another batch to take care of. I think you'd better write me some new lines, said Adam. I feel likea goof saying those same ones to each bunch. You are a goof, and therefore perfect for the part. I was in showbusiness long enough to know never to change a line too soon. I didchange Adam and Eve to Ha-Adamah and Hawwah, and the apple to thepomegranate. People aren't becoming any smarter—but they are becomingbetter researched, and they insist on authenticity. This is still a perfect come-on here. There is something in humannature that cannot resist the idea of a Perfect Paradise. Folks willwhoop and holler to their neighbors to come in droves to spoil and marit. It isn't greed or the desire for new land so much—though that isstrong too. Mainly it is the feverish passion to befoul and poison whatis unspoiled. Fortunately I am sagacious enough to take advantage ofthis trait. And when you start to farm a new world on a shoestring youhave to acquire your equipment as you can. He looked proudly around at the great cave with its mountains and tiersof materials, heavy machinery of all sorts, titanic crates of foodstuffspace-sealed; wheeled, tracked, propped, vaned and jetted vehicles; andpower packs to run a world. He looked at the three dozen space ships stripped and stacked, and atthe rather large pile of bone-meal in one corner. We will have to have another lion, said Eve. Bowser is getting old,and Marie-Yvette abuses him and gnaws his toes. And we do have to havea big-maned lion to lie down with the lamb. I know it, Eve. The lion is a very important prop. Maybe one of thecrackpot settlers will bring a new lion. And can't you mix another kind of shining paint? This itches. It'shell. I'm working on it. <doc-sep>Casper Craig was still dictating the gram: Amazing quality of longevity seemingly inherent in the locale. Climateideal. Daylight or half-light. All twenty-one hours from PlanetDelphina and from Sol. Pure water for all industrial purposes. Scenicand storied. Zoning and pre-settlement restrictions to insure congenialneighbors. A completely planned globular settlement in a near arm ofour own galaxy. Low taxes and liberal credit. Financing our specialty— And you had better have an armed escort when you return, said FatherBriton. Why in cosmos would we want an armed escort? It's as phony as a seven-credit note! You, a man of the cloth doubt it? And us ready skeptics convinced byour senses? Why do you doubt? It is only the unbelieving who believe so easily in obvious frauds.Theologically unsound, dramaturgically weak, philologically impossible,zoologically rigged, salted conspicuously with gold and shot throughwith anachronisms. And moreover he was afraid to play me at checkers. What? If I have a preternatural intellect I wouldn't be afraid of a game ofcheckers with anyone. Yet there was an unusual mind there somewhere; itwas just that he chose not to make our acquaintance personally. They looked at the priest thoughtfully. But it was Paradise in one way, said Steiner at last. How? All the time we were there the woman did not speak. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How is human fallenness explored as a theme?

Human sinfulness and its collective fall from grace are referenced in several ways in the story. Ha-Adamah contrasts his world’s perfection with the fallenness that is apparent in the visitors. He claims to be free from the stain of original sin. He presents himself as perfectly happy and not subject to corruption, aging, or death. This is contrasted with Earth's humanity which was fated to “lose that happiness, and then to seek it vainly through all the ages.”The entire crew of the Little Probe agree on the unacceptability of spoiling a pristine world. Even so, they irresistibly and almost gleefully prepare to exploit the world’s riches.Snake-Oil Sam expounds upon this inclination. He claims that on top of the very real greed of the visitors they’ve deceived over the years, they are capitalizing on the human desire to despoil the unspoiled. This is a clear summation of concupiscence—the inclination for fallen humanity to tend toward sin. It is clear that Sam and his associates are just as fallen as the other individuals in the story, preying on others to further their own goals.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> Brightside Crossing by Alan E. Nourse JAMES BARON was not pleased to hear that he had hada visitor when he reached the Red Lion that evening. Hehad no stomach for mysteries, vast or trifling, and therewere pressing things to think about at this time. Yet the doormanhad flagged him as he came in from the street: “A thousandpardons, Mr. Baron. The gentleman—he would leave noname. He said you’d want to see him. He will be back byeight.” Now Baron drummed his fingers on the table top, staringabout the quiet lounge. Street trade was discouraged at theRed Lion, gently but persuasively; the patrons were few innumber. Across to the right was a group that Baron knewvaguely—Andean climbers, or at least two of them were. Overnear the door he recognized old Balmer, who had mappedthe first passage to the core of Vulcan Crater on Venus. Baronreturned his smile with a nod. Then he settled back andwaited impatiently for the intruder who demanded his timewithout justifying it. Presently a small, grizzled man crossed the room and satdown at Baron’s table. He was short and wiry. His face heldno key to his age—he might have been thirty or a thousand—buthe looked weary and immensely ugly. His cheeks andforehead were twisted and brown, with scars that were stillhealing. The stranger said, “I’m glad you waited. I’ve heard you’replanning to attempt the Brightside.” Baron stared at the man for a moment. “I see you can readtelecasts,” he said coldly. “The news was correct. We are goingto make a Brightside Crossing.” “At perihelion?” “Of course. When else?” The grizzled man searched Baron’s face for a momentwithout expression. Then he said slowly, “No, I’m afraid you’renot going to make the Crossing.” “Say, who are you, if you don’t mind?” Baron demanded. “The name is Claney,” said the stranger. There was a silence. Then: “Claney? Peter Claney?” “That’s right.” Baron’s eyes were wide with excitement, all trace of angergone. “Great balls of fire, man— where have you been hiding? We’ve been trying to contact you for months!” “I know. I was hoping you’d quit looking and chuck thewhole idea.” “Quit looking!” Baron bent forward over the table. “Myfriend, we’d given up hope, but we’ve never quit looking.Here, have a drink. There’s so much you can tell us.” Hisfingers were trembling. Peter Claney shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything youwant to hear.” “But you’ve got to. You’re the only man on Earth who’sattempted a Brightside Crossing and lived through it! And thestory you cleared for the news—it was nothing. We need details . Where did your equipment fall down? Where did youmiscalculate? What were the trouble spots?” Baron jabbed afinger at Claney’s face. “That, for instance—epithelioma?Why? What was wrong with your glass? Your filters? We’vegot to know those things. If you can tell us, we can makeit across where your attempt failed—” “You want to know why we failed?” asked Claney. “Of course we want to know. We have to know.” “It’s simple. We failed because it can’t be done. We couldn’tdo it and neither can you. No human beings will ever crossthe Brightside alive, not if they try for centuries.” “Nonsense,” Baron declared. “We will.” Claney shrugged. “I was there. I know what I’m saying. Youcan blame the equipment or the men—there were flaws inboth quarters—but we just didn’t know what we were fighting.It was the planet that whipped us, that and the Sun . They’llwhip you, too, if you try it.” “Never,” said Baron. “Let me tell you,” Peter Claney said. <doc-sep>I’d been interested in the Brightside for almost as long asI can remember (Claney said). I guess I was about ten whenWyatt and Carpenter made the last attempt—that was in 2082,I think. I followed the news stories like a tri-V serial and thenI was heartbroken when they just disappeared. I know now that they were a pair of idiots, starting off withoutproper equipment, with practically no knowledge of surfaceconditions, without any charts—they couldn’t have madea hundred miles—but I didn’t know that then and it was aterrible tragedy. After that, I followed Sanderson’s work in theTwilight Lab up there and began to get Brightside into myblood, sure as death. But it was Mikuta’s idea to attempt a Crossing. Did you everknow Tom Mikuta? I don’t suppose you did. No, not Japanese—Polish-American.He was a major in the Interplanetary Servicefor some years and hung onto the title after he gave uphis commission. He was with Armstrong on Mars during his Service days,did a good deal of the original mapping and surveying forthe Colony there. I first met him on Venus; we spent fiveyears together up there doing some of the nastiest exploringsince the Matto Grasso. Then he made the attempt on VulcanCrater that paved the way for Balmer a few years later. I’d always liked the Major—he was big and quiet and cool,the sort of guy who always had things figured a little furtherahead than anyone else and always knew what to do in a tightplace. Too many men in this game are all nerve and luck,with no judgment. The Major had both. He also had the kindof personality that could take a crew of wild men andmake them work like a well-oiled machine across a thousandmiles of Venus jungle. I liked him and I trusted him. He contacted me in New York and he was very casual atfirst. We spent an evening here at the Red Lion, talking aboutold times; he told me about the Vulcan business, and how he’dbeen out to see Sanderson and the Twilight Lab on Mercury,and how he preferred a hot trek to a cold one any day of theyear—and then he wanted to know what I’d been doing sinceVenus and what my plans were. “No particular plans,” I told him. “Why?” He looked me over. “How much do you weigh, Peter?” I told him one-thirty-five. “That much!” he said. “Well, there can’t be much fat onyou, at any rate. How do you take heat?” “You should know,” I said. “Venus was no icebox.” “No, I mean real heat.” Then I began to get it. “You’re planning a trip.” “That’s right. A hot trip.” He grinned at me. “Might bedangerous, too.” “What trip?” “Brightside of Mercury,” the Major said. I whistled cautiously. “At aphelion?” He threw his head back. “Why try a Crossing at aphelion?What have you done then? Four thousand miles of butcherousheat, just to have some joker come along, use your data anddrum you out of the glory by crossing at perihelion forty-fourdays later? No, thanks. I want the Brightside without any nonsenseabout it.” He leaned across me eagerly. “I want to makea Crossing at perihelion and I want to cross on the surface. Ifa man can do that, he’s got Mercury. Until then, nobody’s gotMercury. I want Mercury—but I’ll need help getting it.” I’d thought of it a thousand times and never dared considerit. Nobody had, since Wyatt and Carpenter disappeared. Mercuryturns on its axis in the same time that it wheels aroundthe Sun, which means that the Brightside is always facing in.That makes the Brightside of Mercury at perihelion the hottestplace in the Solar System, with one single exception: thesurface of the Sun itself. It would be a hellish trek. Only a few men had ever learnedjust how hellish and they never came back to tell about it. Itwas a real hell’s Crossing, but someday, I thought, somebodywould cross it. I wanted to be along. <doc-sep>The Twilight Lab, near the northern pole of Mercury, was theobvious jumping-off place. The setup there wasn’t very extensive—arocket landing, the labs and quarters for Sanderson’screw sunk deep into the crust, and the tower that housedthe Solar ’scope that Sanderson had built up there ten yearsbefore. Twilight Lab wasn’t particularly interested in the Brightside,of course—the Sun was Sanderson’s baby and he’d pickedMercury as the closest chunk of rock to the Sun that couldhold his observatory. He’d chosen a good location, too. OnMercury, the Brightside temperature hits 770° F. at perihelionand the Darkside runs pretty constant at -410° F. No permanentinstallation with a human crew could survive at eitherextreme. But with Mercury’s wobble, the twilight zone betweenBrightside and Darkside offers something closer to survivaltemperatures. Sanderson built the Lab up near the pole, where the zoneis about five miles wide, so the temperature only varies 50 to60 degrees with the libration. The Solar ’scope could take thatmuch change and they’d get good clear observation of the Sunfor about seventy out of the eighty-eight days it takes the planetto wheel around. The Major was counting on Sanderson knowing somethingabout Mercury as well as the Sun when we camped at the Labto make final preparations. Sanderson did. He thought we’d lost our minds and he saidso, but he gave us all the help he could. He spent a weekbriefing Jack Stone, the third member of our party, who hadarrived with the supplies and equipment a few days earlier.Poor Jack met us at the rocket landing almost bawling, Sandersonhad given him such a gloomy picture of what Brightsidewas like. Stone was a youngster—hardly twenty-five, I’d say—buthe’d been with the Major at Vulcan and had begged to jointhis trek. I had a funny feeling that Jack really didn’t care forexploring too much, but he thought Mikuta was God, followedhim around like a puppy. It didn’t matter to me as long as he knew what he was gettingin for. You don’t go asking people in this game why they do it—they’reliable to get awfully uneasy and none of them canever give you an answer that makes sense. Anyway, Stone hadborrowed three men from the Lab, and had the supplies andequipment all lined up when we got there, ready to checkand test. We dug right in. With plenty of funds—tri-V money andsome government cash the Major had talked his way around—ourequipment was new and good. Mikuta had done the designingand testing himself, with a big assist from Sanderson.We had four Bugs, three of them the light pillow-tire models,with special lead-cooled cut-in engines when the heat set in,and one heavy-duty tractor model for pulling the sledges. The Major went over them like a kid at the circus. Then hesaid, “Have you heard anything from McIvers?” “Who’s he?” Stone wanted to know. “He’ll be joining us. He’s a good man—got quite a namefor climbing, back home.” The Major turned to me. “You’veprobably heard of him.” I’d heard plenty of stories about Ted McIvers and I wasn’ttoo happy to hear that he was joining us. “Kind of a daredevil,isn’t he?” “Maybe. He’s lucky and skillful. Where do you draw theline? We’ll need plenty of both.” “Have you ever worked with him?” I asked. “No. Are you worried?” “Not exactly. But Brightside is no place to count on luck.” The Major laughed. “I don’t think we need to worry aboutMcIvers. We understood each other when I talked up thetrip to him and we’re going to need each other too much todo any fooling around.” He turned back to the supply list.“Meanwhile, let’s get this stuff listed and packed. We’ll needto cut weight sharply and our time is short. Sanderson sayswe should leave in three days.” Two days later, McIvers hadn’t arrived. The Major didn’tsay much about it. Stone was getting edgy and so was I. Wespent the second day studying charts of the Brightside, such asthey were. The best available were pretty poor, taken from sofar out that the detail dissolved into blurs on blow-up. Theyshowed the biggest ranges of peaks and craters and faults, andthat was all. Still, we could use them to plan a broad outlineof our course. “This range here,” the Major said as we crowded aroundthe board, “is largely inactive, according to Sanderson. Butthese to the south and west could be active. Seismographtracings suggest a lot of activity in that region, getting worsedown toward the equator—not only volcanic, but sub-surfaceshifting.” Stone nodded. “Sanderson told me there was probably constantsurface activity.” The Major shrugged. “Well, it’s treacherous, there’s nodoubt of it. But the only way to avoid it is to travel over thePole, which would lose us days and offer us no guarantee ofless activity to the west. Now we might avoid some if we couldfind a pass through this range and cut sharp east—” It seemed that the more we considered the problem, thefurther we got from a solution. We knew there were activevolcanoes on the Brightside—even on the Darkside, thoughsurface activity there was pretty much slowed down andlocalized. But there were problems of atmosphere on Brightside, aswell. There was an atmosphere and a constant atmosphericflow from Brightside to Darkside. Not much—the lighter gaseshad reached escape velocity and disappeared from Brightsidemillennia ago—but there was CO 2 , and nitrogen, and traces ofother heavier gases. There was also an abundance of sulfurvapor, as well as carbon disulfide and sulfur dioxide. The atmospheric tide moved toward the Darkside, where itcondensed, carrying enough volcanic ash with it for Sandersonto estimate the depth and nature of the surface upheavals onBrightside from his samplings. The trick was to find a passagethat avoided those upheavals as far as possible. But in the finalanalysis, we were barely scraping the surface. The only waywe would find out what was happening where was to be there. Finally, on the third day, McIvers blew in on a freightrocket from Venus. He’d missed the ship that the Major andI had taken by a few hours, and had conned his way to Venusin hopes of getting a hop from there. He didn’t seem too upsetabout it, as though this were his usual way of doing things andhe couldn’t see why everyone should get so excited. He was a tall, rangy man with long, wavy hair prematurelygray, and the sort of eyes that looked like a climber’s—half-closed,sleepy, almost indolent, but capable of abrupt alertness.And he never stood still; he was always moving, always doingsomething with his hands, or talking, or pacing about. Evidently the Major decided not to press the issue of hisarrival. There was still work to do, and an hour later we wererunning the final tests on the pressure suits. That evening,Stone and McIvers were thick as thieves, and everything wasset for an early departure after we got some rest. <doc-sep>“And that,” said Baron, finishing his drink and signalingthe waiter for another pair, “was your first big mistake.” Peter Claney raised his eyebrows. “McIvers?” “Of course.” Claney shrugged, glanced at the small quiet tables aroundthem. “There are lots of bizarre personalities around a placelike this, and some of the best wouldn’t seem to be the mostreliable at first glance. Anyway, personality problems weren’tour big problem right then. Equipment worried us first and route next.” Baron nodded in agreement. “What kind of suits did youhave?” “The best insulating suits ever made,” said Claney. “Eachone had an inner lining of a fiberglass modification, to avoidthe clumsiness of asbestos, and carried the refrigerating unitand oxygen storage which we recharged from the sledges everyeight hours. Outer layer carried a monomolecular chrome reflectingsurface that made us glitter like Christmas trees. Andwe had a half-inch dead-air space under positive pressure betweenthe two layers. Warning thermocouples, of course—at770 degrees, it wouldn’t take much time to fry us to cindersif the suits failed somewhere.” “How about the Bugs?” “They were insulated, too, but we weren’t counting onthem too much for protection.” “You weren’t!” Baron exclaimed. “Why not?” “We’d be in and out of them too much. They gave us mobilityand storage, but we knew we’d have to do a lot offorward work on foot.” Claney smiled bitterly. “Which meantthat we had an inch of fiberglass and a half-inch of dead airbetween us and a surface temperature where lead flowed likewater and zinc was almost at melting point and the pools ofsulfur in the shadows were boiling like oatmeal over a campfire.” Baron licked his lips. His fingers stroked the cool, wet glassas he set it down on the tablecloth. “Go on,” he said tautly. “You started on schedule?” “Oh, yes,” said Claney, “we started on schedule, all right.We just didn’t quite end on schedule, that was all. But I’mgetting to that.” He settled back in his chair and continued. <doc-sep>We jumped off from Twilight on a course due southeastwith thirty days to make it to the Center of Brightside. If wecould cross an average of seventy miles a day, we could hitCenter exactly at perihelion, the point of Mercury’s closestapproach to the Sun—which made Center the hottest part ofthe planet at the hottest it ever gets. The Sun was already huge and yellow over the horizonwhen we started, twice the size it appears on Earth. Every daythat Sun would grow bigger and whiter, and every day thesurface would get hotter. But once we reached Center, the jobwas only half done—we would still have to travel anothertwo thousand miles to the opposite twilight zone. Sandersonwas to meet us on the other side in the Laboratory’s scout ship,approximately sixty days from the time we jumped off. That was the plan, in outline. It was up to us to cross thoseseventy miles a day, no matter how hot it became, no matterwhat terrain we had to cross. Detours would be dangerous andtime-consuming. Delays could cost us our lives. We all knewthat. The Major briefed us on details an hour before we left.“Peter, you’ll take the lead Bug, the small one we strippeddown for you. Stone and I will flank you on either side, givingyou a hundred-yard lead. McIvers, you’ll have the job ofdragging the sledges, so we’ll have to direct your course prettyclosely. Peter’s job is to pick the passage at any given point.If there’s any doubt of safe passage, we’ll all explore aheadon foot before we risk the Bugs. Got that?” McIvers and Stone exchanged glances. McIvers said: “Jackand I were planning to change around. We figured he couldtake the sledges. That would give me a little more mobility.” The Major looked up sharply at Stone. “Do you buy that,Jack?” Stone shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mac wanted—” McIvers made an impatient gesture with his hands. “Itdoesn’t matter. I just feel better when I’m on the move. Doesit make any difference?” “I guess it doesn’t,” said the Major. “Then you’ll flankPeter along with me. Right?” “Sure, sure.” McIvers pulled at his lower lip. “Who’s goingto do the advance scouting?” “It sounds like I am,” I cut in. “We want to keep the leadBug light as possible.” Mikuta nodded. “That’s right. Peter’s Bug is stripped downto the frame and wheels.” McIvers shook his head. “No, I mean the advance work.You need somebody out ahead—four or five miles, at least—topick up the big flaws and active surface changes, don’t you?”He stared at the Major. “I mean, how can we tell what sort ofa hole we may be moving into, unless we have a scout upahead?” “That’s what we have the charts for,” the Major saidsharply. “Charts! I’m talking about detail work. We don’t need toworry about the major topography. It’s the little faults youcan’t see on the pictures that can kill us.” He tossed the chartsdown excitedly. “Look, let me take a Bug out ahead and workreconnaissance, keep five, maybe ten miles ahead of the column.I can stay on good solid ground, of course, but scan thearea closely and radio back to Peter where to avoid the flaws.Then—” “No dice,” the Major broke in. “But why not? We could save ourselves days!” “I don’t care what we could save. We stay together. Whenwe get to the Center, I want live men along with me. Thatmeans we stay within easy sight of each other at all times. Anyclimber knows that everybody is safer in a party than one manalone—any time, any place.” McIvers stared at him, his cheeks an angry red. Finally hegave a sullen nod. “Okay. If you say so.” “Well, I say so and I mean it. I don’t want any fancy stuff.We’re going to hit Center together, and finish the Crossing together.Got that?” McIvers nodded. Mikuta then looked at Stone and me andwe nodded, too. “All right,” he said slowly. “Now that we’ve got it straight,let’s go.” It was hot. If I forget everything else about that trek, I’llnever forget that huge yellow Sun glaring down, without abreak, hotter and hotter with every mile. We knew that thefirst few days would be the easiest and we were rested andfresh when we started down the long ragged gorge southeast ofthe Twilight Lab. I moved out first; back over my shoulder, I could see theMajor and McIvers crawling out behind me, their pillow tirestaking the rugged floor of the gorge smoothly. Behind them,Stone dragged the sledges. Even at only 30 per cent Earth gravity they were a strain onthe big tractor, until the ski-blades bit into the fluffy volcanicash blanketing the valley. We even had a path to follow forthe first twenty miles. I kept my eyes pasted to the big polaroid binocs, picking outthe track the early research teams had made out into the edgeof Brightside. But in a couple of hours we rumbled past Sanderson’slittle outpost observatory and the tracks stopped. Wewere in virgin territory and already the Sun was beginning tobite. We didn’t feel the heat so much those first days out. We saw it. The refrig units kept our skins at a nice comfortable seventy-fivedegrees Fahrenheit inside our suits, but our eyes watchedthat glaring Sun and the baked yellow rocks going past, andsome nerve pathways got twisted up, somehow. We pouredsweat as if we were in a superheated furnace. We drove eight hours and slept five. When a sleep periodcame due, we pulled the Bugs together into a square, threw upa light aluminum sun-shield and lay out in the dust and rocks.The sun-shield cut the temperature down sixty or seventydegrees, for whatever help that was. And then we ate from theforward sledge—sucking through tubes—protein, carbohydrates,bulk gelatin, vitamins. The Major measured water out with an iron hand, becausewe’d have drunk ourselves into nephritis in a week otherwise.We were constantly, unceasingly thirsty. Ask the physiologistsand psychiatrists why—they can give you have a dozen interestingreasons—but all we knew, or cared about, was that ithappened to be so. We didn’t sleep the first few stops, as a consequence. Oureyes burned in spite of the filters and we had roaring headaches,but we couldn’t sleep them off. We sat around lookingat each other. Then McIvers would say how good a beer wouldtaste, and off we’d go. We’d have murdered our grandmothersfor one ice-cold bottle of beer. After a few driving periods, I began to get my bearings atthe wheel. We were moving down into desolation that madeEarth’s old Death Valley look like a Japanese rose garden.Huge sun-baked cracks opened up in the floor of the gorge,with black cliffs jutting up on either side; the air was filledwith a barely visible yellowish mist of sulfur and sulfurousgases. It was a hot, barren hole, no place for any man to go, butthe challenge was so powerful you could almost feel it. No onehad ever crossed this land before and escaped. Those who hadtried it had been cruelly punished, but the land was still there,so it had to be crossed. Not the easy way. It had to be crossedthe hardest way possible: overland, through anything the landcould throw up to us, at the most difficult time possible. Yet we knew that even the land might have been conqueredbefore, except for that Sun. We’d fought absolute cold beforeand won. We’d never fought heat like this and won. The onlyworse heat in the Solar System was the surface of the Sunitself. Brightside was worth trying for. We would get it or it wouldget us. That was the bargain. I learned a lot about Mercury those first few driving periods.The gorge petered out after a hundred miles and we movedonto the slope of a range of ragged craters that ran south andeast. This range had shown no activity since the first landingon Mercury forty years before, but beyond it there were activecones. Yellow fumes rose from the craters constantly; theirsides were shrouded with heavy ash. We couldn’t detect a wind, but we knew there was a hot,sulfurous breeze sweeping in great continental tides across theface of the planet. Not enough for erosion, though. The cratersrose up out of jagged gorges, huge towering spears of rock andrubble. Below were the vast yellow flatlands, smoking and hissingfrom the gases beneath the crust. Over everything was graydust—silicates and salts, pumice and limestone and graniteash, filling crevices and declivities—offering a soft, treacheroussurface for the Bug’s pillow tires. I learned to read the ground, to tell a covered fault by thesag of the dust; I learned to spot a passable crack, and tell itfrom an impassable cut. Time after time the Bugs ground toa halt while we explored a passage on foot, tied together withlight copper cable, digging, advancing, digging some moreuntil we were sure the surface would carry the machines. Itwas cruel work; we slept in exhaustion. But it went smoothly,at first. Too smoothly, it seemed to me, and the others seemed tothink so, too. McIvers’ restlessness was beginning to grate on our nerves.He talked too much, while we were resting or while we weredriving; wisecracks, witticisms, unfunny jokes that wore thinwith repetition. He took to making side trips from the routenow and then, never far, but a little further each time. Jack Stone reacted quite the opposite; he grew quieter witheach stop, more reserved and apprehensive. I didn’t like it, butI figured that it would pass off after a while. I was apprehensiveenough myself; I just managed to hide it better. And every mile the Sun got bigger and whiter and higher inthe sky and hotter. Without our ultra-violet screens and glarefilters we would have been blinded; as it was our eyes achedconstantly and the skin on our faces itched and tingled at theend of an eight-hour trek. But it took one of those side trips of McIvers’ to deliver thepenultimate blow to our already fraying nerves. He had drivendown a side-branch of a long canyon running off west of ourroute and was almost out of sight in a cloud of ash when weheard a sharp cry through our earphones. I wheeled my Bug around with my heart in my throat andspotted him through the binocs, waving frantically from thetop of his machine. The Major and I took off, lumbering downthe gulch after him as fast as the Bugs could go, with a thousandhorrible pictures racing through our minds.... We found him standing stock-still, pointing down the gorgeand, for once, he didn’t have anything to say. It was the wreckof a Bug; an old-fashioned half-track model of the sort thathadn’t been in use for years. It was wedged tight in a cut inthe rock, an axle broken, its casing split wide open up themiddle, half-buried in a rock slide. A dozen feet away weretwo insulated suits with white bones gleaming through thefiberglass helmets. This was as far as Wyatt and Carpenter had gotten on their Brightside Crossing. <doc-sep>On the fifth driving period out, the terrain began to change.It looked the same, but every now and then it felt different.On two occasions I felt my wheels spin, with a howl of protestfrom my engine. Then, quite suddenly, the Bug gave a lurch;I gunned my motor and nothing happened. I could see the dull gray stuff seeping up around the hubs,thick and tenacious, splattering around in steaming gobs asthe wheels spun. I knew what had happened the moment thewheels gave and, a few minutes later, they chained me to thetractor and dragged me back out of the mire. It looked forall the world like thick gray mud, but it was a pit of moltenlead, steaming under a soft layer of concealing ash. I picked my way more cautiously then. We were getting intoan area of recent surface activity; the surface was really treacherous.I caught myself wishing that the Major had okayedMcIvers’ scheme for an advanced scout; more dangerous forthe individual, maybe, but I was driving blind now and I didn’tlike it. One error in judgment could sink us all, but I wasn’t thinkingmuch about the others. I was worried about me , plentyworried. I kept thinking, better McIvers should go than me.It wasn’t healthy thinking and I knew it, but I couldn’t get thethought out of my mind. It was a grueling eight hours and we slept poorly. Back inthe Bug again, we moved still more slowly—edging out on abroad flat plateau, dodging a network of gaping surface cracks—windingback and forth in an effort to keep the machines onsolid rock. I couldn’t see far ahead, because of the yellow hazerising from the cracks, so I was almost on top of it when I sawa sharp cut ahead where the surface dropped six feet beyonda deep crack. I let out a shout to halt the others; then I edged my Bugforward, peering at the cleft. It was deep and wide. I movedfifty yards to the left, then back to the right. There was only one place that looked like a possible crossing;a long, narrow ledge of gray stuff that lay down acrossa section of the fault like a ramp. Even as I watched it, I couldfeel the surface crust under the Bug trembling and saw theledge shift over a few feet. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

James Baron is planning a trek to Brightside Crossing on Mercury, a feat so far unaccomplished. Few had tried, and those that did died. All except for one. He is asked to wait at the Red Baron as someone wanted to see him at 8. He waits patiently and is rewarded with the company of Peter Claney, the man who made it back home. Claney instantly tells him to give up on the journey and stay on Earth. Baron asks for details about their trek and what went wrong, but Claney refuses to give him the details. Claney is an older man now with an epithelioma on his face. Although he came to warn him, he quickly learns that Baron may only listen if he hears the truth. So Claney recounts the story. Major Tom Mikuta recruited Claney, Jack Stone, and Ted McIvers to join him. They were to adventure to the Brightside Crossing at perihelion, a more dangerous journey. Temperatures reached up to 770 degrees Fahrenheit at perihelion, but Mikuta was an all-or-nothing man. Stone arrived on Mercury first, soon followed by Mikuta and Claney. McIvers was the last to arrive and they left soon after with three Bugs and one tractor dragging the sledges. Stone was briefed by Sanderson, the head of the observatory, before they left, and the men pored over all images and maps of the Crossing before beginning. Despite their high-tech spacesuits and general gadgets, the giant sun still got to them. They were constantly thirsty and hot, and their skin itched and burned. They drove for eight hours, then slept for five. They needed to travel 70 miles a day. It would take 30 days to reach the Center, and then another 30 to reach the pick-up spot. The journey quickly took a toll on Stone, who was the most apprehensive of the bunch. He retreats into himself, while McIvers chatters nonstop to fill the silence. Tension grew among the crew, especially as McIvers put himself at risk by adventuring away from them. Claney lead the gang in his Bug, while McIvers and Mikuta flanked him. Stone was in the very back. If Claney saw something suspicious or unsafe, they would investigate on foot before continuing in their equipment. As they travel, they got closer to the Sun, which appeared to be twice as big as it did on Earth. Several drives into their journey, McIvers discovered something truly terrible on one of his forrays. He screamed into the intercom, alerting the others who quickly rushed after him. He stood there, pointing below. There lay a broken, older Bug and two corpses. Wyatt and Carpenter, the original discoverers. They continued on with disheartened spirits until Claney reached a cleft. There was no way to cross it, except for a very small and dangerous ledge. The cleft slowly began to crumble under their Bugs and they’re left in a very precarious position.

Who is McIvers, and what happens to him throughout the story? [SEP] <s> Brightside Crossing by Alan E. Nourse JAMES BARON was not pleased to hear that he had hada visitor when he reached the Red Lion that evening. Hehad no stomach for mysteries, vast or trifling, and therewere pressing things to think about at this time. Yet the doormanhad flagged him as he came in from the street: “A thousandpardons, Mr. Baron. The gentleman—he would leave noname. He said you’d want to see him. He will be back byeight.” Now Baron drummed his fingers on the table top, staringabout the quiet lounge. Street trade was discouraged at theRed Lion, gently but persuasively; the patrons were few innumber. Across to the right was a group that Baron knewvaguely—Andean climbers, or at least two of them were. Overnear the door he recognized old Balmer, who had mappedthe first passage to the core of Vulcan Crater on Venus. Baronreturned his smile with a nod. Then he settled back andwaited impatiently for the intruder who demanded his timewithout justifying it. Presently a small, grizzled man crossed the room and satdown at Baron’s table. He was short and wiry. His face heldno key to his age—he might have been thirty or a thousand—buthe looked weary and immensely ugly. His cheeks andforehead were twisted and brown, with scars that were stillhealing. The stranger said, “I’m glad you waited. I’ve heard you’replanning to attempt the Brightside.” Baron stared at the man for a moment. “I see you can readtelecasts,” he said coldly. “The news was correct. We are goingto make a Brightside Crossing.” “At perihelion?” “Of course. When else?” The grizzled man searched Baron’s face for a momentwithout expression. Then he said slowly, “No, I’m afraid you’renot going to make the Crossing.” “Say, who are you, if you don’t mind?” Baron demanded. “The name is Claney,” said the stranger. There was a silence. Then: “Claney? Peter Claney?” “That’s right.” Baron’s eyes were wide with excitement, all trace of angergone. “Great balls of fire, man— where have you been hiding? We’ve been trying to contact you for months!” “I know. I was hoping you’d quit looking and chuck thewhole idea.” “Quit looking!” Baron bent forward over the table. “Myfriend, we’d given up hope, but we’ve never quit looking.Here, have a drink. There’s so much you can tell us.” Hisfingers were trembling. Peter Claney shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything youwant to hear.” “But you’ve got to. You’re the only man on Earth who’sattempted a Brightside Crossing and lived through it! And thestory you cleared for the news—it was nothing. We need details . Where did your equipment fall down? Where did youmiscalculate? What were the trouble spots?” Baron jabbed afinger at Claney’s face. “That, for instance—epithelioma?Why? What was wrong with your glass? Your filters? We’vegot to know those things. If you can tell us, we can makeit across where your attempt failed—” “You want to know why we failed?” asked Claney. “Of course we want to know. We have to know.” “It’s simple. We failed because it can’t be done. We couldn’tdo it and neither can you. No human beings will ever crossthe Brightside alive, not if they try for centuries.” “Nonsense,” Baron declared. “We will.” Claney shrugged. “I was there. I know what I’m saying. Youcan blame the equipment or the men—there were flaws inboth quarters—but we just didn’t know what we were fighting.It was the planet that whipped us, that and the Sun . They’llwhip you, too, if you try it.” “Never,” said Baron. “Let me tell you,” Peter Claney said. <doc-sep>I’d been interested in the Brightside for almost as long asI can remember (Claney said). I guess I was about ten whenWyatt and Carpenter made the last attempt—that was in 2082,I think. I followed the news stories like a tri-V serial and thenI was heartbroken when they just disappeared. I know now that they were a pair of idiots, starting off withoutproper equipment, with practically no knowledge of surfaceconditions, without any charts—they couldn’t have madea hundred miles—but I didn’t know that then and it was aterrible tragedy. After that, I followed Sanderson’s work in theTwilight Lab up there and began to get Brightside into myblood, sure as death. But it was Mikuta’s idea to attempt a Crossing. Did you everknow Tom Mikuta? I don’t suppose you did. No, not Japanese—Polish-American.He was a major in the Interplanetary Servicefor some years and hung onto the title after he gave uphis commission. He was with Armstrong on Mars during his Service days,did a good deal of the original mapping and surveying forthe Colony there. I first met him on Venus; we spent fiveyears together up there doing some of the nastiest exploringsince the Matto Grasso. Then he made the attempt on VulcanCrater that paved the way for Balmer a few years later. I’d always liked the Major—he was big and quiet and cool,the sort of guy who always had things figured a little furtherahead than anyone else and always knew what to do in a tightplace. Too many men in this game are all nerve and luck,with no judgment. The Major had both. He also had the kindof personality that could take a crew of wild men andmake them work like a well-oiled machine across a thousandmiles of Venus jungle. I liked him and I trusted him. He contacted me in New York and he was very casual atfirst. We spent an evening here at the Red Lion, talking aboutold times; he told me about the Vulcan business, and how he’dbeen out to see Sanderson and the Twilight Lab on Mercury,and how he preferred a hot trek to a cold one any day of theyear—and then he wanted to know what I’d been doing sinceVenus and what my plans were. “No particular plans,” I told him. “Why?” He looked me over. “How much do you weigh, Peter?” I told him one-thirty-five. “That much!” he said. “Well, there can’t be much fat onyou, at any rate. How do you take heat?” “You should know,” I said. “Venus was no icebox.” “No, I mean real heat.” Then I began to get it. “You’re planning a trip.” “That’s right. A hot trip.” He grinned at me. “Might bedangerous, too.” “What trip?” “Brightside of Mercury,” the Major said. I whistled cautiously. “At aphelion?” He threw his head back. “Why try a Crossing at aphelion?What have you done then? Four thousand miles of butcherousheat, just to have some joker come along, use your data anddrum you out of the glory by crossing at perihelion forty-fourdays later? No, thanks. I want the Brightside without any nonsenseabout it.” He leaned across me eagerly. “I want to makea Crossing at perihelion and I want to cross on the surface. Ifa man can do that, he’s got Mercury. Until then, nobody’s gotMercury. I want Mercury—but I’ll need help getting it.” I’d thought of it a thousand times and never dared considerit. Nobody had, since Wyatt and Carpenter disappeared. Mercuryturns on its axis in the same time that it wheels aroundthe Sun, which means that the Brightside is always facing in.That makes the Brightside of Mercury at perihelion the hottestplace in the Solar System, with one single exception: thesurface of the Sun itself. It would be a hellish trek. Only a few men had ever learnedjust how hellish and they never came back to tell about it. Itwas a real hell’s Crossing, but someday, I thought, somebodywould cross it. I wanted to be along. <doc-sep>The Twilight Lab, near the northern pole of Mercury, was theobvious jumping-off place. The setup there wasn’t very extensive—arocket landing, the labs and quarters for Sanderson’screw sunk deep into the crust, and the tower that housedthe Solar ’scope that Sanderson had built up there ten yearsbefore. Twilight Lab wasn’t particularly interested in the Brightside,of course—the Sun was Sanderson’s baby and he’d pickedMercury as the closest chunk of rock to the Sun that couldhold his observatory. He’d chosen a good location, too. OnMercury, the Brightside temperature hits 770° F. at perihelionand the Darkside runs pretty constant at -410° F. No permanentinstallation with a human crew could survive at eitherextreme. But with Mercury’s wobble, the twilight zone betweenBrightside and Darkside offers something closer to survivaltemperatures. Sanderson built the Lab up near the pole, where the zoneis about five miles wide, so the temperature only varies 50 to60 degrees with the libration. The Solar ’scope could take thatmuch change and they’d get good clear observation of the Sunfor about seventy out of the eighty-eight days it takes the planetto wheel around. The Major was counting on Sanderson knowing somethingabout Mercury as well as the Sun when we camped at the Labto make final preparations. Sanderson did. He thought we’d lost our minds and he saidso, but he gave us all the help he could. He spent a weekbriefing Jack Stone, the third member of our party, who hadarrived with the supplies and equipment a few days earlier.Poor Jack met us at the rocket landing almost bawling, Sandersonhad given him such a gloomy picture of what Brightsidewas like. Stone was a youngster—hardly twenty-five, I’d say—buthe’d been with the Major at Vulcan and had begged to jointhis trek. I had a funny feeling that Jack really didn’t care forexploring too much, but he thought Mikuta was God, followedhim around like a puppy. It didn’t matter to me as long as he knew what he was gettingin for. You don’t go asking people in this game why they do it—they’reliable to get awfully uneasy and none of them canever give you an answer that makes sense. Anyway, Stone hadborrowed three men from the Lab, and had the supplies andequipment all lined up when we got there, ready to checkand test. We dug right in. With plenty of funds—tri-V money andsome government cash the Major had talked his way around—ourequipment was new and good. Mikuta had done the designingand testing himself, with a big assist from Sanderson.We had four Bugs, three of them the light pillow-tire models,with special lead-cooled cut-in engines when the heat set in,and one heavy-duty tractor model for pulling the sledges. The Major went over them like a kid at the circus. Then hesaid, “Have you heard anything from McIvers?” “Who’s he?” Stone wanted to know. “He’ll be joining us. He’s a good man—got quite a namefor climbing, back home.” The Major turned to me. “You’veprobably heard of him.” I’d heard plenty of stories about Ted McIvers and I wasn’ttoo happy to hear that he was joining us. “Kind of a daredevil,isn’t he?” “Maybe. He’s lucky and skillful. Where do you draw theline? We’ll need plenty of both.” “Have you ever worked with him?” I asked. “No. Are you worried?” “Not exactly. But Brightside is no place to count on luck.” The Major laughed. “I don’t think we need to worry aboutMcIvers. We understood each other when I talked up thetrip to him and we’re going to need each other too much todo any fooling around.” He turned back to the supply list.“Meanwhile, let’s get this stuff listed and packed. We’ll needto cut weight sharply and our time is short. Sanderson sayswe should leave in three days.” Two days later, McIvers hadn’t arrived. The Major didn’tsay much about it. Stone was getting edgy and so was I. Wespent the second day studying charts of the Brightside, such asthey were. The best available were pretty poor, taken from sofar out that the detail dissolved into blurs on blow-up. Theyshowed the biggest ranges of peaks and craters and faults, andthat was all. Still, we could use them to plan a broad outlineof our course. “This range here,” the Major said as we crowded aroundthe board, “is largely inactive, according to Sanderson. Butthese to the south and west could be active. Seismographtracings suggest a lot of activity in that region, getting worsedown toward the equator—not only volcanic, but sub-surfaceshifting.” Stone nodded. “Sanderson told me there was probably constantsurface activity.” The Major shrugged. “Well, it’s treacherous, there’s nodoubt of it. But the only way to avoid it is to travel over thePole, which would lose us days and offer us no guarantee ofless activity to the west. Now we might avoid some if we couldfind a pass through this range and cut sharp east—” It seemed that the more we considered the problem, thefurther we got from a solution. We knew there were activevolcanoes on the Brightside—even on the Darkside, thoughsurface activity there was pretty much slowed down andlocalized. But there were problems of atmosphere on Brightside, aswell. There was an atmosphere and a constant atmosphericflow from Brightside to Darkside. Not much—the lighter gaseshad reached escape velocity and disappeared from Brightsidemillennia ago—but there was CO 2 , and nitrogen, and traces ofother heavier gases. There was also an abundance of sulfurvapor, as well as carbon disulfide and sulfur dioxide. The atmospheric tide moved toward the Darkside, where itcondensed, carrying enough volcanic ash with it for Sandersonto estimate the depth and nature of the surface upheavals onBrightside from his samplings. The trick was to find a passagethat avoided those upheavals as far as possible. But in the finalanalysis, we were barely scraping the surface. The only waywe would find out what was happening where was to be there. Finally, on the third day, McIvers blew in on a freightrocket from Venus. He’d missed the ship that the Major andI had taken by a few hours, and had conned his way to Venusin hopes of getting a hop from there. He didn’t seem too upsetabout it, as though this were his usual way of doing things andhe couldn’t see why everyone should get so excited. He was a tall, rangy man with long, wavy hair prematurelygray, and the sort of eyes that looked like a climber’s—half-closed,sleepy, almost indolent, but capable of abrupt alertness.And he never stood still; he was always moving, always doingsomething with his hands, or talking, or pacing about. Evidently the Major decided not to press the issue of hisarrival. There was still work to do, and an hour later we wererunning the final tests on the pressure suits. That evening,Stone and McIvers were thick as thieves, and everything wasset for an early departure after we got some rest. <doc-sep>“And that,” said Baron, finishing his drink and signalingthe waiter for another pair, “was your first big mistake.” Peter Claney raised his eyebrows. “McIvers?” “Of course.” Claney shrugged, glanced at the small quiet tables aroundthem. “There are lots of bizarre personalities around a placelike this, and some of the best wouldn’t seem to be the mostreliable at first glance. Anyway, personality problems weren’tour big problem right then. Equipment worried us first and route next.” Baron nodded in agreement. “What kind of suits did youhave?” “The best insulating suits ever made,” said Claney. “Eachone had an inner lining of a fiberglass modification, to avoidthe clumsiness of asbestos, and carried the refrigerating unitand oxygen storage which we recharged from the sledges everyeight hours. Outer layer carried a monomolecular chrome reflectingsurface that made us glitter like Christmas trees. Andwe had a half-inch dead-air space under positive pressure betweenthe two layers. Warning thermocouples, of course—at770 degrees, it wouldn’t take much time to fry us to cindersif the suits failed somewhere.” “How about the Bugs?” “They were insulated, too, but we weren’t counting onthem too much for protection.” “You weren’t!” Baron exclaimed. “Why not?” “We’d be in and out of them too much. They gave us mobilityand storage, but we knew we’d have to do a lot offorward work on foot.” Claney smiled bitterly. “Which meantthat we had an inch of fiberglass and a half-inch of dead airbetween us and a surface temperature where lead flowed likewater and zinc was almost at melting point and the pools ofsulfur in the shadows were boiling like oatmeal over a campfire.” Baron licked his lips. His fingers stroked the cool, wet glassas he set it down on the tablecloth. “Go on,” he said tautly. “You started on schedule?” “Oh, yes,” said Claney, “we started on schedule, all right.We just didn’t quite end on schedule, that was all. But I’mgetting to that.” He settled back in his chair and continued. <doc-sep>We jumped off from Twilight on a course due southeastwith thirty days to make it to the Center of Brightside. If wecould cross an average of seventy miles a day, we could hitCenter exactly at perihelion, the point of Mercury’s closestapproach to the Sun—which made Center the hottest part ofthe planet at the hottest it ever gets. The Sun was already huge and yellow over the horizonwhen we started, twice the size it appears on Earth. Every daythat Sun would grow bigger and whiter, and every day thesurface would get hotter. But once we reached Center, the jobwas only half done—we would still have to travel anothertwo thousand miles to the opposite twilight zone. Sandersonwas to meet us on the other side in the Laboratory’s scout ship,approximately sixty days from the time we jumped off. That was the plan, in outline. It was up to us to cross thoseseventy miles a day, no matter how hot it became, no matterwhat terrain we had to cross. Detours would be dangerous andtime-consuming. Delays could cost us our lives. We all knewthat. The Major briefed us on details an hour before we left.“Peter, you’ll take the lead Bug, the small one we strippeddown for you. Stone and I will flank you on either side, givingyou a hundred-yard lead. McIvers, you’ll have the job ofdragging the sledges, so we’ll have to direct your course prettyclosely. Peter’s job is to pick the passage at any given point.If there’s any doubt of safe passage, we’ll all explore aheadon foot before we risk the Bugs. Got that?” McIvers and Stone exchanged glances. McIvers said: “Jackand I were planning to change around. We figured he couldtake the sledges. That would give me a little more mobility.” The Major looked up sharply at Stone. “Do you buy that,Jack?” Stone shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mac wanted—” McIvers made an impatient gesture with his hands. “Itdoesn’t matter. I just feel better when I’m on the move. Doesit make any difference?” “I guess it doesn’t,” said the Major. “Then you’ll flankPeter along with me. Right?” “Sure, sure.” McIvers pulled at his lower lip. “Who’s goingto do the advance scouting?” “It sounds like I am,” I cut in. “We want to keep the leadBug light as possible.” Mikuta nodded. “That’s right. Peter’s Bug is stripped downto the frame and wheels.” McIvers shook his head. “No, I mean the advance work.You need somebody out ahead—four or five miles, at least—topick up the big flaws and active surface changes, don’t you?”He stared at the Major. “I mean, how can we tell what sort ofa hole we may be moving into, unless we have a scout upahead?” “That’s what we have the charts for,” the Major saidsharply. “Charts! I’m talking about detail work. We don’t need toworry about the major topography. It’s the little faults youcan’t see on the pictures that can kill us.” He tossed the chartsdown excitedly. “Look, let me take a Bug out ahead and workreconnaissance, keep five, maybe ten miles ahead of the column.I can stay on good solid ground, of course, but scan thearea closely and radio back to Peter where to avoid the flaws.Then—” “No dice,” the Major broke in. “But why not? We could save ourselves days!” “I don’t care what we could save. We stay together. Whenwe get to the Center, I want live men along with me. Thatmeans we stay within easy sight of each other at all times. Anyclimber knows that everybody is safer in a party than one manalone—any time, any place.” McIvers stared at him, his cheeks an angry red. Finally hegave a sullen nod. “Okay. If you say so.” “Well, I say so and I mean it. I don’t want any fancy stuff.We’re going to hit Center together, and finish the Crossing together.Got that?” McIvers nodded. Mikuta then looked at Stone and me andwe nodded, too. “All right,” he said slowly. “Now that we’ve got it straight,let’s go.” It was hot. If I forget everything else about that trek, I’llnever forget that huge yellow Sun glaring down, without abreak, hotter and hotter with every mile. We knew that thefirst few days would be the easiest and we were rested andfresh when we started down the long ragged gorge southeast ofthe Twilight Lab. I moved out first; back over my shoulder, I could see theMajor and McIvers crawling out behind me, their pillow tirestaking the rugged floor of the gorge smoothly. Behind them,Stone dragged the sledges. Even at only 30 per cent Earth gravity they were a strain onthe big tractor, until the ski-blades bit into the fluffy volcanicash blanketing the valley. We even had a path to follow forthe first twenty miles. I kept my eyes pasted to the big polaroid binocs, picking outthe track the early research teams had made out into the edgeof Brightside. But in a couple of hours we rumbled past Sanderson’slittle outpost observatory and the tracks stopped. Wewere in virgin territory and already the Sun was beginning tobite. We didn’t feel the heat so much those first days out. We saw it. The refrig units kept our skins at a nice comfortable seventy-fivedegrees Fahrenheit inside our suits, but our eyes watchedthat glaring Sun and the baked yellow rocks going past, andsome nerve pathways got twisted up, somehow. We pouredsweat as if we were in a superheated furnace. We drove eight hours and slept five. When a sleep periodcame due, we pulled the Bugs together into a square, threw upa light aluminum sun-shield and lay out in the dust and rocks.The sun-shield cut the temperature down sixty or seventydegrees, for whatever help that was. And then we ate from theforward sledge—sucking through tubes—protein, carbohydrates,bulk gelatin, vitamins. The Major measured water out with an iron hand, becausewe’d have drunk ourselves into nephritis in a week otherwise.We were constantly, unceasingly thirsty. Ask the physiologistsand psychiatrists why—they can give you have a dozen interestingreasons—but all we knew, or cared about, was that ithappened to be so. We didn’t sleep the first few stops, as a consequence. Oureyes burned in spite of the filters and we had roaring headaches,but we couldn’t sleep them off. We sat around lookingat each other. Then McIvers would say how good a beer wouldtaste, and off we’d go. We’d have murdered our grandmothersfor one ice-cold bottle of beer. After a few driving periods, I began to get my bearings atthe wheel. We were moving down into desolation that madeEarth’s old Death Valley look like a Japanese rose garden.Huge sun-baked cracks opened up in the floor of the gorge,with black cliffs jutting up on either side; the air was filledwith a barely visible yellowish mist of sulfur and sulfurousgases. It was a hot, barren hole, no place for any man to go, butthe challenge was so powerful you could almost feel it. No onehad ever crossed this land before and escaped. Those who hadtried it had been cruelly punished, but the land was still there,so it had to be crossed. Not the easy way. It had to be crossedthe hardest way possible: overland, through anything the landcould throw up to us, at the most difficult time possible. Yet we knew that even the land might have been conqueredbefore, except for that Sun. We’d fought absolute cold beforeand won. We’d never fought heat like this and won. The onlyworse heat in the Solar System was the surface of the Sunitself. Brightside was worth trying for. We would get it or it wouldget us. That was the bargain. I learned a lot about Mercury those first few driving periods.The gorge petered out after a hundred miles and we movedonto the slope of a range of ragged craters that ran south andeast. This range had shown no activity since the first landingon Mercury forty years before, but beyond it there were activecones. Yellow fumes rose from the craters constantly; theirsides were shrouded with heavy ash. We couldn’t detect a wind, but we knew there was a hot,sulfurous breeze sweeping in great continental tides across theface of the planet. Not enough for erosion, though. The cratersrose up out of jagged gorges, huge towering spears of rock andrubble. Below were the vast yellow flatlands, smoking and hissingfrom the gases beneath the crust. Over everything was graydust—silicates and salts, pumice and limestone and graniteash, filling crevices and declivities—offering a soft, treacheroussurface for the Bug’s pillow tires. I learned to read the ground, to tell a covered fault by thesag of the dust; I learned to spot a passable crack, and tell itfrom an impassable cut. Time after time the Bugs ground toa halt while we explored a passage on foot, tied together withlight copper cable, digging, advancing, digging some moreuntil we were sure the surface would carry the machines. Itwas cruel work; we slept in exhaustion. But it went smoothly,at first. Too smoothly, it seemed to me, and the others seemed tothink so, too. McIvers’ restlessness was beginning to grate on our nerves.He talked too much, while we were resting or while we weredriving; wisecracks, witticisms, unfunny jokes that wore thinwith repetition. He took to making side trips from the routenow and then, never far, but a little further each time. Jack Stone reacted quite the opposite; he grew quieter witheach stop, more reserved and apprehensive. I didn’t like it, butI figured that it would pass off after a while. I was apprehensiveenough myself; I just managed to hide it better. And every mile the Sun got bigger and whiter and higher inthe sky and hotter. Without our ultra-violet screens and glarefilters we would have been blinded; as it was our eyes achedconstantly and the skin on our faces itched and tingled at theend of an eight-hour trek. But it took one of those side trips of McIvers’ to deliver thepenultimate blow to our already fraying nerves. He had drivendown a side-branch of a long canyon running off west of ourroute and was almost out of sight in a cloud of ash when weheard a sharp cry through our earphones. I wheeled my Bug around with my heart in my throat andspotted him through the binocs, waving frantically from thetop of his machine. The Major and I took off, lumbering downthe gulch after him as fast as the Bugs could go, with a thousandhorrible pictures racing through our minds.... We found him standing stock-still, pointing down the gorgeand, for once, he didn’t have anything to say. It was the wreckof a Bug; an old-fashioned half-track model of the sort thathadn’t been in use for years. It was wedged tight in a cut inthe rock, an axle broken, its casing split wide open up themiddle, half-buried in a rock slide. A dozen feet away weretwo insulated suits with white bones gleaming through thefiberglass helmets. This was as far as Wyatt and Carpenter had gotten on their Brightside Crossing. <doc-sep>On the fifth driving period out, the terrain began to change.It looked the same, but every now and then it felt different.On two occasions I felt my wheels spin, with a howl of protestfrom my engine. Then, quite suddenly, the Bug gave a lurch;I gunned my motor and nothing happened. I could see the dull gray stuff seeping up around the hubs,thick and tenacious, splattering around in steaming gobs asthe wheels spun. I knew what had happened the moment thewheels gave and, a few minutes later, they chained me to thetractor and dragged me back out of the mire. It looked forall the world like thick gray mud, but it was a pit of moltenlead, steaming under a soft layer of concealing ash. I picked my way more cautiously then. We were getting intoan area of recent surface activity; the surface was really treacherous.I caught myself wishing that the Major had okayedMcIvers’ scheme for an advanced scout; more dangerous forthe individual, maybe, but I was driving blind now and I didn’tlike it. One error in judgment could sink us all, but I wasn’t thinkingmuch about the others. I was worried about me , plentyworried. I kept thinking, better McIvers should go than me.It wasn’t healthy thinking and I knew it, but I couldn’t get thethought out of my mind. It was a grueling eight hours and we slept poorly. Back inthe Bug again, we moved still more slowly—edging out on abroad flat plateau, dodging a network of gaping surface cracks—windingback and forth in an effort to keep the machines onsolid rock. I couldn’t see far ahead, because of the yellow hazerising from the cracks, so I was almost on top of it when I sawa sharp cut ahead where the surface dropped six feet beyonda deep crack. I let out a shout to halt the others; then I edged my Bugforward, peering at the cleft. It was deep and wide. I movedfifty yards to the left, then back to the right. There was only one place that looked like a possible crossing;a long, narrow ledge of gray stuff that lay down acrossa section of the fault like a ramp. Even as I watched it, I couldfeel the surface crust under the Bug trembling and saw theledge shift over a few feet. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is McIvers, and what happens to him throughout the story?

From the get-go, Claney is clear in his obvious mistrust of McIvers and his preceding reputation. Late to Mercury, he arrives ready to explore. With long, gray hair and paradoxically drowsy yet alert eyes, McIvers’ constant movement and chatter get on his colleague’s nerves. McIvers is a famous climber known for pushing the boundaries and being a daredevil. After his arrival on Mercury, he and the crew soon set out for their treacherous journey to the Brightside Crossing. He switches spots with Stone, so he would have control of a Bug. He also asks to explore four or five miles ahead of the rest of the crew to see if it’s dangerous footing ahead. Mikuta quickly shuts him down. McIvers talks nonstop through the intercoms or when they’re supposed to be resting. As well, he disobeys Mikuta’s orders and occasionally drifts off from the rest of the group, discovering things as he goes. He never drifts far enough to receive any real punishment, though he does get farther away every time. During one of his side-explorations, he discovers a wrecked Bug and two corpses belonging to Wyatt and Carpenter, the previous explorers of the Brightside Crossing. With this shocking find, he returns to the crew in silence.

Describe the setting of the story. [SEP] <s> Brightside Crossing by Alan E. Nourse JAMES BARON was not pleased to hear that he had hada visitor when he reached the Red Lion that evening. Hehad no stomach for mysteries, vast or trifling, and therewere pressing things to think about at this time. Yet the doormanhad flagged him as he came in from the street: “A thousandpardons, Mr. Baron. The gentleman—he would leave noname. He said you’d want to see him. He will be back byeight.” Now Baron drummed his fingers on the table top, staringabout the quiet lounge. Street trade was discouraged at theRed Lion, gently but persuasively; the patrons were few innumber. Across to the right was a group that Baron knewvaguely—Andean climbers, or at least two of them were. Overnear the door he recognized old Balmer, who had mappedthe first passage to the core of Vulcan Crater on Venus. Baronreturned his smile with a nod. Then he settled back andwaited impatiently for the intruder who demanded his timewithout justifying it. Presently a small, grizzled man crossed the room and satdown at Baron’s table. He was short and wiry. His face heldno key to his age—he might have been thirty or a thousand—buthe looked weary and immensely ugly. His cheeks andforehead were twisted and brown, with scars that were stillhealing. The stranger said, “I’m glad you waited. I’ve heard you’replanning to attempt the Brightside.” Baron stared at the man for a moment. “I see you can readtelecasts,” he said coldly. “The news was correct. We are goingto make a Brightside Crossing.” “At perihelion?” “Of course. When else?” The grizzled man searched Baron’s face for a momentwithout expression. Then he said slowly, “No, I’m afraid you’renot going to make the Crossing.” “Say, who are you, if you don’t mind?” Baron demanded. “The name is Claney,” said the stranger. There was a silence. Then: “Claney? Peter Claney?” “That’s right.” Baron’s eyes were wide with excitement, all trace of angergone. “Great balls of fire, man— where have you been hiding? We’ve been trying to contact you for months!” “I know. I was hoping you’d quit looking and chuck thewhole idea.” “Quit looking!” Baron bent forward over the table. “Myfriend, we’d given up hope, but we’ve never quit looking.Here, have a drink. There’s so much you can tell us.” Hisfingers were trembling. Peter Claney shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything youwant to hear.” “But you’ve got to. You’re the only man on Earth who’sattempted a Brightside Crossing and lived through it! And thestory you cleared for the news—it was nothing. We need details . Where did your equipment fall down? Where did youmiscalculate? What were the trouble spots?” Baron jabbed afinger at Claney’s face. “That, for instance—epithelioma?Why? What was wrong with your glass? Your filters? We’vegot to know those things. If you can tell us, we can makeit across where your attempt failed—” “You want to know why we failed?” asked Claney. “Of course we want to know. We have to know.” “It’s simple. We failed because it can’t be done. We couldn’tdo it and neither can you. No human beings will ever crossthe Brightside alive, not if they try for centuries.” “Nonsense,” Baron declared. “We will.” Claney shrugged. “I was there. I know what I’m saying. Youcan blame the equipment or the men—there were flaws inboth quarters—but we just didn’t know what we were fighting.It was the planet that whipped us, that and the Sun . They’llwhip you, too, if you try it.” “Never,” said Baron. “Let me tell you,” Peter Claney said. <doc-sep>I’d been interested in the Brightside for almost as long asI can remember (Claney said). I guess I was about ten whenWyatt and Carpenter made the last attempt—that was in 2082,I think. I followed the news stories like a tri-V serial and thenI was heartbroken when they just disappeared. I know now that they were a pair of idiots, starting off withoutproper equipment, with practically no knowledge of surfaceconditions, without any charts—they couldn’t have madea hundred miles—but I didn’t know that then and it was aterrible tragedy. After that, I followed Sanderson’s work in theTwilight Lab up there and began to get Brightside into myblood, sure as death. But it was Mikuta’s idea to attempt a Crossing. Did you everknow Tom Mikuta? I don’t suppose you did. No, not Japanese—Polish-American.He was a major in the Interplanetary Servicefor some years and hung onto the title after he gave uphis commission. He was with Armstrong on Mars during his Service days,did a good deal of the original mapping and surveying forthe Colony there. I first met him on Venus; we spent fiveyears together up there doing some of the nastiest exploringsince the Matto Grasso. Then he made the attempt on VulcanCrater that paved the way for Balmer a few years later. I’d always liked the Major—he was big and quiet and cool,the sort of guy who always had things figured a little furtherahead than anyone else and always knew what to do in a tightplace. Too many men in this game are all nerve and luck,with no judgment. The Major had both. He also had the kindof personality that could take a crew of wild men andmake them work like a well-oiled machine across a thousandmiles of Venus jungle. I liked him and I trusted him. He contacted me in New York and he was very casual atfirst. We spent an evening here at the Red Lion, talking aboutold times; he told me about the Vulcan business, and how he’dbeen out to see Sanderson and the Twilight Lab on Mercury,and how he preferred a hot trek to a cold one any day of theyear—and then he wanted to know what I’d been doing sinceVenus and what my plans were. “No particular plans,” I told him. “Why?” He looked me over. “How much do you weigh, Peter?” I told him one-thirty-five. “That much!” he said. “Well, there can’t be much fat onyou, at any rate. How do you take heat?” “You should know,” I said. “Venus was no icebox.” “No, I mean real heat.” Then I began to get it. “You’re planning a trip.” “That’s right. A hot trip.” He grinned at me. “Might bedangerous, too.” “What trip?” “Brightside of Mercury,” the Major said. I whistled cautiously. “At aphelion?” He threw his head back. “Why try a Crossing at aphelion?What have you done then? Four thousand miles of butcherousheat, just to have some joker come along, use your data anddrum you out of the glory by crossing at perihelion forty-fourdays later? No, thanks. I want the Brightside without any nonsenseabout it.” He leaned across me eagerly. “I want to makea Crossing at perihelion and I want to cross on the surface. Ifa man can do that, he’s got Mercury. Until then, nobody’s gotMercury. I want Mercury—but I’ll need help getting it.” I’d thought of it a thousand times and never dared considerit. Nobody had, since Wyatt and Carpenter disappeared. Mercuryturns on its axis in the same time that it wheels aroundthe Sun, which means that the Brightside is always facing in.That makes the Brightside of Mercury at perihelion the hottestplace in the Solar System, with one single exception: thesurface of the Sun itself. It would be a hellish trek. Only a few men had ever learnedjust how hellish and they never came back to tell about it. Itwas a real hell’s Crossing, but someday, I thought, somebodywould cross it. I wanted to be along. <doc-sep>The Twilight Lab, near the northern pole of Mercury, was theobvious jumping-off place. The setup there wasn’t very extensive—arocket landing, the labs and quarters for Sanderson’screw sunk deep into the crust, and the tower that housedthe Solar ’scope that Sanderson had built up there ten yearsbefore. Twilight Lab wasn’t particularly interested in the Brightside,of course—the Sun was Sanderson’s baby and he’d pickedMercury as the closest chunk of rock to the Sun that couldhold his observatory. He’d chosen a good location, too. OnMercury, the Brightside temperature hits 770° F. at perihelionand the Darkside runs pretty constant at -410° F. No permanentinstallation with a human crew could survive at eitherextreme. But with Mercury’s wobble, the twilight zone betweenBrightside and Darkside offers something closer to survivaltemperatures. Sanderson built the Lab up near the pole, where the zoneis about five miles wide, so the temperature only varies 50 to60 degrees with the libration. The Solar ’scope could take thatmuch change and they’d get good clear observation of the Sunfor about seventy out of the eighty-eight days it takes the planetto wheel around. The Major was counting on Sanderson knowing somethingabout Mercury as well as the Sun when we camped at the Labto make final preparations. Sanderson did. He thought we’d lost our minds and he saidso, but he gave us all the help he could. He spent a weekbriefing Jack Stone, the third member of our party, who hadarrived with the supplies and equipment a few days earlier.Poor Jack met us at the rocket landing almost bawling, Sandersonhad given him such a gloomy picture of what Brightsidewas like. Stone was a youngster—hardly twenty-five, I’d say—buthe’d been with the Major at Vulcan and had begged to jointhis trek. I had a funny feeling that Jack really didn’t care forexploring too much, but he thought Mikuta was God, followedhim around like a puppy. It didn’t matter to me as long as he knew what he was gettingin for. You don’t go asking people in this game why they do it—they’reliable to get awfully uneasy and none of them canever give you an answer that makes sense. Anyway, Stone hadborrowed three men from the Lab, and had the supplies andequipment all lined up when we got there, ready to checkand test. We dug right in. With plenty of funds—tri-V money andsome government cash the Major had talked his way around—ourequipment was new and good. Mikuta had done the designingand testing himself, with a big assist from Sanderson.We had four Bugs, three of them the light pillow-tire models,with special lead-cooled cut-in engines when the heat set in,and one heavy-duty tractor model for pulling the sledges. The Major went over them like a kid at the circus. Then hesaid, “Have you heard anything from McIvers?” “Who’s he?” Stone wanted to know. “He’ll be joining us. He’s a good man—got quite a namefor climbing, back home.” The Major turned to me. “You’veprobably heard of him.” I’d heard plenty of stories about Ted McIvers and I wasn’ttoo happy to hear that he was joining us. “Kind of a daredevil,isn’t he?” “Maybe. He’s lucky and skillful. Where do you draw theline? We’ll need plenty of both.” “Have you ever worked with him?” I asked. “No. Are you worried?” “Not exactly. But Brightside is no place to count on luck.” The Major laughed. “I don’t think we need to worry aboutMcIvers. We understood each other when I talked up thetrip to him and we’re going to need each other too much todo any fooling around.” He turned back to the supply list.“Meanwhile, let’s get this stuff listed and packed. We’ll needto cut weight sharply and our time is short. Sanderson sayswe should leave in three days.” Two days later, McIvers hadn’t arrived. The Major didn’tsay much about it. Stone was getting edgy and so was I. Wespent the second day studying charts of the Brightside, such asthey were. The best available were pretty poor, taken from sofar out that the detail dissolved into blurs on blow-up. Theyshowed the biggest ranges of peaks and craters and faults, andthat was all. Still, we could use them to plan a broad outlineof our course. “This range here,” the Major said as we crowded aroundthe board, “is largely inactive, according to Sanderson. Butthese to the south and west could be active. Seismographtracings suggest a lot of activity in that region, getting worsedown toward the equator—not only volcanic, but sub-surfaceshifting.” Stone nodded. “Sanderson told me there was probably constantsurface activity.” The Major shrugged. “Well, it’s treacherous, there’s nodoubt of it. But the only way to avoid it is to travel over thePole, which would lose us days and offer us no guarantee ofless activity to the west. Now we might avoid some if we couldfind a pass through this range and cut sharp east—” It seemed that the more we considered the problem, thefurther we got from a solution. We knew there were activevolcanoes on the Brightside—even on the Darkside, thoughsurface activity there was pretty much slowed down andlocalized. But there were problems of atmosphere on Brightside, aswell. There was an atmosphere and a constant atmosphericflow from Brightside to Darkside. Not much—the lighter gaseshad reached escape velocity and disappeared from Brightsidemillennia ago—but there was CO 2 , and nitrogen, and traces ofother heavier gases. There was also an abundance of sulfurvapor, as well as carbon disulfide and sulfur dioxide. The atmospheric tide moved toward the Darkside, where itcondensed, carrying enough volcanic ash with it for Sandersonto estimate the depth and nature of the surface upheavals onBrightside from his samplings. The trick was to find a passagethat avoided those upheavals as far as possible. But in the finalanalysis, we were barely scraping the surface. The only waywe would find out what was happening where was to be there. Finally, on the third day, McIvers blew in on a freightrocket from Venus. He’d missed the ship that the Major andI had taken by a few hours, and had conned his way to Venusin hopes of getting a hop from there. He didn’t seem too upsetabout it, as though this were his usual way of doing things andhe couldn’t see why everyone should get so excited. He was a tall, rangy man with long, wavy hair prematurelygray, and the sort of eyes that looked like a climber’s—half-closed,sleepy, almost indolent, but capable of abrupt alertness.And he never stood still; he was always moving, always doingsomething with his hands, or talking, or pacing about. Evidently the Major decided not to press the issue of hisarrival. There was still work to do, and an hour later we wererunning the final tests on the pressure suits. That evening,Stone and McIvers were thick as thieves, and everything wasset for an early departure after we got some rest. <doc-sep>“And that,” said Baron, finishing his drink and signalingthe waiter for another pair, “was your first big mistake.” Peter Claney raised his eyebrows. “McIvers?” “Of course.” Claney shrugged, glanced at the small quiet tables aroundthem. “There are lots of bizarre personalities around a placelike this, and some of the best wouldn’t seem to be the mostreliable at first glance. Anyway, personality problems weren’tour big problem right then. Equipment worried us first and route next.” Baron nodded in agreement. “What kind of suits did youhave?” “The best insulating suits ever made,” said Claney. “Eachone had an inner lining of a fiberglass modification, to avoidthe clumsiness of asbestos, and carried the refrigerating unitand oxygen storage which we recharged from the sledges everyeight hours. Outer layer carried a monomolecular chrome reflectingsurface that made us glitter like Christmas trees. Andwe had a half-inch dead-air space under positive pressure betweenthe two layers. Warning thermocouples, of course—at770 degrees, it wouldn’t take much time to fry us to cindersif the suits failed somewhere.” “How about the Bugs?” “They were insulated, too, but we weren’t counting onthem too much for protection.” “You weren’t!” Baron exclaimed. “Why not?” “We’d be in and out of them too much. They gave us mobilityand storage, but we knew we’d have to do a lot offorward work on foot.” Claney smiled bitterly. “Which meantthat we had an inch of fiberglass and a half-inch of dead airbetween us and a surface temperature where lead flowed likewater and zinc was almost at melting point and the pools ofsulfur in the shadows were boiling like oatmeal over a campfire.” Baron licked his lips. His fingers stroked the cool, wet glassas he set it down on the tablecloth. “Go on,” he said tautly. “You started on schedule?” “Oh, yes,” said Claney, “we started on schedule, all right.We just didn’t quite end on schedule, that was all. But I’mgetting to that.” He settled back in his chair and continued. <doc-sep>We jumped off from Twilight on a course due southeastwith thirty days to make it to the Center of Brightside. If wecould cross an average of seventy miles a day, we could hitCenter exactly at perihelion, the point of Mercury’s closestapproach to the Sun—which made Center the hottest part ofthe planet at the hottest it ever gets. The Sun was already huge and yellow over the horizonwhen we started, twice the size it appears on Earth. Every daythat Sun would grow bigger and whiter, and every day thesurface would get hotter. But once we reached Center, the jobwas only half done—we would still have to travel anothertwo thousand miles to the opposite twilight zone. Sandersonwas to meet us on the other side in the Laboratory’s scout ship,approximately sixty days from the time we jumped off. That was the plan, in outline. It was up to us to cross thoseseventy miles a day, no matter how hot it became, no matterwhat terrain we had to cross. Detours would be dangerous andtime-consuming. Delays could cost us our lives. We all knewthat. The Major briefed us on details an hour before we left.“Peter, you’ll take the lead Bug, the small one we strippeddown for you. Stone and I will flank you on either side, givingyou a hundred-yard lead. McIvers, you’ll have the job ofdragging the sledges, so we’ll have to direct your course prettyclosely. Peter’s job is to pick the passage at any given point.If there’s any doubt of safe passage, we’ll all explore aheadon foot before we risk the Bugs. Got that?” McIvers and Stone exchanged glances. McIvers said: “Jackand I were planning to change around. We figured he couldtake the sledges. That would give me a little more mobility.” The Major looked up sharply at Stone. “Do you buy that,Jack?” Stone shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mac wanted—” McIvers made an impatient gesture with his hands. “Itdoesn’t matter. I just feel better when I’m on the move. Doesit make any difference?” “I guess it doesn’t,” said the Major. “Then you’ll flankPeter along with me. Right?” “Sure, sure.” McIvers pulled at his lower lip. “Who’s goingto do the advance scouting?” “It sounds like I am,” I cut in. “We want to keep the leadBug light as possible.” Mikuta nodded. “That’s right. Peter’s Bug is stripped downto the frame and wheels.” McIvers shook his head. “No, I mean the advance work.You need somebody out ahead—four or five miles, at least—topick up the big flaws and active surface changes, don’t you?”He stared at the Major. “I mean, how can we tell what sort ofa hole we may be moving into, unless we have a scout upahead?” “That’s what we have the charts for,” the Major saidsharply. “Charts! I’m talking about detail work. We don’t need toworry about the major topography. It’s the little faults youcan’t see on the pictures that can kill us.” He tossed the chartsdown excitedly. “Look, let me take a Bug out ahead and workreconnaissance, keep five, maybe ten miles ahead of the column.I can stay on good solid ground, of course, but scan thearea closely and radio back to Peter where to avoid the flaws.Then—” “No dice,” the Major broke in. “But why not? We could save ourselves days!” “I don’t care what we could save. We stay together. Whenwe get to the Center, I want live men along with me. Thatmeans we stay within easy sight of each other at all times. Anyclimber knows that everybody is safer in a party than one manalone—any time, any place.” McIvers stared at him, his cheeks an angry red. Finally hegave a sullen nod. “Okay. If you say so.” “Well, I say so and I mean it. I don’t want any fancy stuff.We’re going to hit Center together, and finish the Crossing together.Got that?” McIvers nodded. Mikuta then looked at Stone and me andwe nodded, too. “All right,” he said slowly. “Now that we’ve got it straight,let’s go.” It was hot. If I forget everything else about that trek, I’llnever forget that huge yellow Sun glaring down, without abreak, hotter and hotter with every mile. We knew that thefirst few days would be the easiest and we were rested andfresh when we started down the long ragged gorge southeast ofthe Twilight Lab. I moved out first; back over my shoulder, I could see theMajor and McIvers crawling out behind me, their pillow tirestaking the rugged floor of the gorge smoothly. Behind them,Stone dragged the sledges. Even at only 30 per cent Earth gravity they were a strain onthe big tractor, until the ski-blades bit into the fluffy volcanicash blanketing the valley. We even had a path to follow forthe first twenty miles. I kept my eyes pasted to the big polaroid binocs, picking outthe track the early research teams had made out into the edgeof Brightside. But in a couple of hours we rumbled past Sanderson’slittle outpost observatory and the tracks stopped. Wewere in virgin territory and already the Sun was beginning tobite. We didn’t feel the heat so much those first days out. We saw it. The refrig units kept our skins at a nice comfortable seventy-fivedegrees Fahrenheit inside our suits, but our eyes watchedthat glaring Sun and the baked yellow rocks going past, andsome nerve pathways got twisted up, somehow. We pouredsweat as if we were in a superheated furnace. We drove eight hours and slept five. When a sleep periodcame due, we pulled the Bugs together into a square, threw upa light aluminum sun-shield and lay out in the dust and rocks.The sun-shield cut the temperature down sixty or seventydegrees, for whatever help that was. And then we ate from theforward sledge—sucking through tubes—protein, carbohydrates,bulk gelatin, vitamins. The Major measured water out with an iron hand, becausewe’d have drunk ourselves into nephritis in a week otherwise.We were constantly, unceasingly thirsty. Ask the physiologistsand psychiatrists why—they can give you have a dozen interestingreasons—but all we knew, or cared about, was that ithappened to be so. We didn’t sleep the first few stops, as a consequence. Oureyes burned in spite of the filters and we had roaring headaches,but we couldn’t sleep them off. We sat around lookingat each other. Then McIvers would say how good a beer wouldtaste, and off we’d go. We’d have murdered our grandmothersfor one ice-cold bottle of beer. After a few driving periods, I began to get my bearings atthe wheel. We were moving down into desolation that madeEarth’s old Death Valley look like a Japanese rose garden.Huge sun-baked cracks opened up in the floor of the gorge,with black cliffs jutting up on either side; the air was filledwith a barely visible yellowish mist of sulfur and sulfurousgases. It was a hot, barren hole, no place for any man to go, butthe challenge was so powerful you could almost feel it. No onehad ever crossed this land before and escaped. Those who hadtried it had been cruelly punished, but the land was still there,so it had to be crossed. Not the easy way. It had to be crossedthe hardest way possible: overland, through anything the landcould throw up to us, at the most difficult time possible. Yet we knew that even the land might have been conqueredbefore, except for that Sun. We’d fought absolute cold beforeand won. We’d never fought heat like this and won. The onlyworse heat in the Solar System was the surface of the Sunitself. Brightside was worth trying for. We would get it or it wouldget us. That was the bargain. I learned a lot about Mercury those first few driving periods.The gorge petered out after a hundred miles and we movedonto the slope of a range of ragged craters that ran south andeast. This range had shown no activity since the first landingon Mercury forty years before, but beyond it there were activecones. Yellow fumes rose from the craters constantly; theirsides were shrouded with heavy ash. We couldn’t detect a wind, but we knew there was a hot,sulfurous breeze sweeping in great continental tides across theface of the planet. Not enough for erosion, though. The cratersrose up out of jagged gorges, huge towering spears of rock andrubble. Below were the vast yellow flatlands, smoking and hissingfrom the gases beneath the crust. Over everything was graydust—silicates and salts, pumice and limestone and graniteash, filling crevices and declivities—offering a soft, treacheroussurface for the Bug’s pillow tires. I learned to read the ground, to tell a covered fault by thesag of the dust; I learned to spot a passable crack, and tell itfrom an impassable cut. Time after time the Bugs ground toa halt while we explored a passage on foot, tied together withlight copper cable, digging, advancing, digging some moreuntil we were sure the surface would carry the machines. Itwas cruel work; we slept in exhaustion. But it went smoothly,at first. Too smoothly, it seemed to me, and the others seemed tothink so, too. McIvers’ restlessness was beginning to grate on our nerves.He talked too much, while we were resting or while we weredriving; wisecracks, witticisms, unfunny jokes that wore thinwith repetition. He took to making side trips from the routenow and then, never far, but a little further each time. Jack Stone reacted quite the opposite; he grew quieter witheach stop, more reserved and apprehensive. I didn’t like it, butI figured that it would pass off after a while. I was apprehensiveenough myself; I just managed to hide it better. And every mile the Sun got bigger and whiter and higher inthe sky and hotter. Without our ultra-violet screens and glarefilters we would have been blinded; as it was our eyes achedconstantly and the skin on our faces itched and tingled at theend of an eight-hour trek. But it took one of those side trips of McIvers’ to deliver thepenultimate blow to our already fraying nerves. He had drivendown a side-branch of a long canyon running off west of ourroute and was almost out of sight in a cloud of ash when weheard a sharp cry through our earphones. I wheeled my Bug around with my heart in my throat andspotted him through the binocs, waving frantically from thetop of his machine. The Major and I took off, lumbering downthe gulch after him as fast as the Bugs could go, with a thousandhorrible pictures racing through our minds.... We found him standing stock-still, pointing down the gorgeand, for once, he didn’t have anything to say. It was the wreckof a Bug; an old-fashioned half-track model of the sort thathadn’t been in use for years. It was wedged tight in a cut inthe rock, an axle broken, its casing split wide open up themiddle, half-buried in a rock slide. A dozen feet away weretwo insulated suits with white bones gleaming through thefiberglass helmets. This was as far as Wyatt and Carpenter had gotten on their Brightside Crossing. <doc-sep>On the fifth driving period out, the terrain began to change.It looked the same, but every now and then it felt different.On two occasions I felt my wheels spin, with a howl of protestfrom my engine. Then, quite suddenly, the Bug gave a lurch;I gunned my motor and nothing happened. I could see the dull gray stuff seeping up around the hubs,thick and tenacious, splattering around in steaming gobs asthe wheels spun. I knew what had happened the moment thewheels gave and, a few minutes later, they chained me to thetractor and dragged me back out of the mire. It looked forall the world like thick gray mud, but it was a pit of moltenlead, steaming under a soft layer of concealing ash. I picked my way more cautiously then. We were getting intoan area of recent surface activity; the surface was really treacherous.I caught myself wishing that the Major had okayedMcIvers’ scheme for an advanced scout; more dangerous forthe individual, maybe, but I was driving blind now and I didn’tlike it. One error in judgment could sink us all, but I wasn’t thinkingmuch about the others. I was worried about me , plentyworried. I kept thinking, better McIvers should go than me.It wasn’t healthy thinking and I knew it, but I couldn’t get thethought out of my mind. It was a grueling eight hours and we slept poorly. Back inthe Bug again, we moved still more slowly—edging out on abroad flat plateau, dodging a network of gaping surface cracks—windingback and forth in an effort to keep the machines onsolid rock. I couldn’t see far ahead, because of the yellow hazerising from the cracks, so I was almost on top of it when I sawa sharp cut ahead where the surface dropped six feet beyonda deep crack. I let out a shout to halt the others; then I edged my Bugforward, peering at the cleft. It was deep and wide. I movedfifty yards to the left, then back to the right. There was only one place that looked like a possible crossing;a long, narrow ledge of gray stuff that lay down acrossa section of the fault like a ramp. Even as I watched it, I couldfeel the surface crust under the Bug trembling and saw theledge shift over a few feet. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story.

Brightside Crossing by Alan E. Nourse mostly takes place on the surface of Mercury. The main characters begin in an observatory equipped to support human life as well as do research on the planet itself. However, they quickly move on in their journey to cross the Brightside at perihelion. Full of craters, gorges, and cracked land, the planet’s surface is incredibly dangerous to travel on. Sulfurous, hot winds blow across the planet. Beyond the towering, rocky spears and jagged gorges lay yellow valleys and flatlands. The gas beneath the surface of the planet can cause volcanic-like eruptions. This gas can also imply rise up from the core and poison the atmosphere around it. Gray dust caused by years of erosion rested atop every surface. Mercury is an incredibly hot planet, being the nearest to the sun, and the surface reflects that.

What is the significance of the Brightside Crossing? [SEP] <s> Brightside Crossing by Alan E. Nourse JAMES BARON was not pleased to hear that he had hada visitor when he reached the Red Lion that evening. Hehad no stomach for mysteries, vast or trifling, and therewere pressing things to think about at this time. Yet the doormanhad flagged him as he came in from the street: “A thousandpardons, Mr. Baron. The gentleman—he would leave noname. He said you’d want to see him. He will be back byeight.” Now Baron drummed his fingers on the table top, staringabout the quiet lounge. Street trade was discouraged at theRed Lion, gently but persuasively; the patrons were few innumber. Across to the right was a group that Baron knewvaguely—Andean climbers, or at least two of them were. Overnear the door he recognized old Balmer, who had mappedthe first passage to the core of Vulcan Crater on Venus. Baronreturned his smile with a nod. Then he settled back andwaited impatiently for the intruder who demanded his timewithout justifying it. Presently a small, grizzled man crossed the room and satdown at Baron’s table. He was short and wiry. His face heldno key to his age—he might have been thirty or a thousand—buthe looked weary and immensely ugly. His cheeks andforehead were twisted and brown, with scars that were stillhealing. The stranger said, “I’m glad you waited. I’ve heard you’replanning to attempt the Brightside.” Baron stared at the man for a moment. “I see you can readtelecasts,” he said coldly. “The news was correct. We are goingto make a Brightside Crossing.” “At perihelion?” “Of course. When else?” The grizzled man searched Baron’s face for a momentwithout expression. Then he said slowly, “No, I’m afraid you’renot going to make the Crossing.” “Say, who are you, if you don’t mind?” Baron demanded. “The name is Claney,” said the stranger. There was a silence. Then: “Claney? Peter Claney?” “That’s right.” Baron’s eyes were wide with excitement, all trace of angergone. “Great balls of fire, man— where have you been hiding? We’ve been trying to contact you for months!” “I know. I was hoping you’d quit looking and chuck thewhole idea.” “Quit looking!” Baron bent forward over the table. “Myfriend, we’d given up hope, but we’ve never quit looking.Here, have a drink. There’s so much you can tell us.” Hisfingers were trembling. Peter Claney shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything youwant to hear.” “But you’ve got to. You’re the only man on Earth who’sattempted a Brightside Crossing and lived through it! And thestory you cleared for the news—it was nothing. We need details . Where did your equipment fall down? Where did youmiscalculate? What were the trouble spots?” Baron jabbed afinger at Claney’s face. “That, for instance—epithelioma?Why? What was wrong with your glass? Your filters? We’vegot to know those things. If you can tell us, we can makeit across where your attempt failed—” “You want to know why we failed?” asked Claney. “Of course we want to know. We have to know.” “It’s simple. We failed because it can’t be done. We couldn’tdo it and neither can you. No human beings will ever crossthe Brightside alive, not if they try for centuries.” “Nonsense,” Baron declared. “We will.” Claney shrugged. “I was there. I know what I’m saying. Youcan blame the equipment or the men—there were flaws inboth quarters—but we just didn’t know what we were fighting.It was the planet that whipped us, that and the Sun . They’llwhip you, too, if you try it.” “Never,” said Baron. “Let me tell you,” Peter Claney said. <doc-sep>I’d been interested in the Brightside for almost as long asI can remember (Claney said). I guess I was about ten whenWyatt and Carpenter made the last attempt—that was in 2082,I think. I followed the news stories like a tri-V serial and thenI was heartbroken when they just disappeared. I know now that they were a pair of idiots, starting off withoutproper equipment, with practically no knowledge of surfaceconditions, without any charts—they couldn’t have madea hundred miles—but I didn’t know that then and it was aterrible tragedy. After that, I followed Sanderson’s work in theTwilight Lab up there and began to get Brightside into myblood, sure as death. But it was Mikuta’s idea to attempt a Crossing. Did you everknow Tom Mikuta? I don’t suppose you did. No, not Japanese—Polish-American.He was a major in the Interplanetary Servicefor some years and hung onto the title after he gave uphis commission. He was with Armstrong on Mars during his Service days,did a good deal of the original mapping and surveying forthe Colony there. I first met him on Venus; we spent fiveyears together up there doing some of the nastiest exploringsince the Matto Grasso. Then he made the attempt on VulcanCrater that paved the way for Balmer a few years later. I’d always liked the Major—he was big and quiet and cool,the sort of guy who always had things figured a little furtherahead than anyone else and always knew what to do in a tightplace. Too many men in this game are all nerve and luck,with no judgment. The Major had both. He also had the kindof personality that could take a crew of wild men andmake them work like a well-oiled machine across a thousandmiles of Venus jungle. I liked him and I trusted him. He contacted me in New York and he was very casual atfirst. We spent an evening here at the Red Lion, talking aboutold times; he told me about the Vulcan business, and how he’dbeen out to see Sanderson and the Twilight Lab on Mercury,and how he preferred a hot trek to a cold one any day of theyear—and then he wanted to know what I’d been doing sinceVenus and what my plans were. “No particular plans,” I told him. “Why?” He looked me over. “How much do you weigh, Peter?” I told him one-thirty-five. “That much!” he said. “Well, there can’t be much fat onyou, at any rate. How do you take heat?” “You should know,” I said. “Venus was no icebox.” “No, I mean real heat.” Then I began to get it. “You’re planning a trip.” “That’s right. A hot trip.” He grinned at me. “Might bedangerous, too.” “What trip?” “Brightside of Mercury,” the Major said. I whistled cautiously. “At aphelion?” He threw his head back. “Why try a Crossing at aphelion?What have you done then? Four thousand miles of butcherousheat, just to have some joker come along, use your data anddrum you out of the glory by crossing at perihelion forty-fourdays later? No, thanks. I want the Brightside without any nonsenseabout it.” He leaned across me eagerly. “I want to makea Crossing at perihelion and I want to cross on the surface. Ifa man can do that, he’s got Mercury. Until then, nobody’s gotMercury. I want Mercury—but I’ll need help getting it.” I’d thought of it a thousand times and never dared considerit. Nobody had, since Wyatt and Carpenter disappeared. Mercuryturns on its axis in the same time that it wheels aroundthe Sun, which means that the Brightside is always facing in.That makes the Brightside of Mercury at perihelion the hottestplace in the Solar System, with one single exception: thesurface of the Sun itself. It would be a hellish trek. Only a few men had ever learnedjust how hellish and they never came back to tell about it. Itwas a real hell’s Crossing, but someday, I thought, somebodywould cross it. I wanted to be along. <doc-sep>The Twilight Lab, near the northern pole of Mercury, was theobvious jumping-off place. The setup there wasn’t very extensive—arocket landing, the labs and quarters for Sanderson’screw sunk deep into the crust, and the tower that housedthe Solar ’scope that Sanderson had built up there ten yearsbefore. Twilight Lab wasn’t particularly interested in the Brightside,of course—the Sun was Sanderson’s baby and he’d pickedMercury as the closest chunk of rock to the Sun that couldhold his observatory. He’d chosen a good location, too. OnMercury, the Brightside temperature hits 770° F. at perihelionand the Darkside runs pretty constant at -410° F. No permanentinstallation with a human crew could survive at eitherextreme. But with Mercury’s wobble, the twilight zone betweenBrightside and Darkside offers something closer to survivaltemperatures. Sanderson built the Lab up near the pole, where the zoneis about five miles wide, so the temperature only varies 50 to60 degrees with the libration. The Solar ’scope could take thatmuch change and they’d get good clear observation of the Sunfor about seventy out of the eighty-eight days it takes the planetto wheel around. The Major was counting on Sanderson knowing somethingabout Mercury as well as the Sun when we camped at the Labto make final preparations. Sanderson did. He thought we’d lost our minds and he saidso, but he gave us all the help he could. He spent a weekbriefing Jack Stone, the third member of our party, who hadarrived with the supplies and equipment a few days earlier.Poor Jack met us at the rocket landing almost bawling, Sandersonhad given him such a gloomy picture of what Brightsidewas like. Stone was a youngster—hardly twenty-five, I’d say—buthe’d been with the Major at Vulcan and had begged to jointhis trek. I had a funny feeling that Jack really didn’t care forexploring too much, but he thought Mikuta was God, followedhim around like a puppy. It didn’t matter to me as long as he knew what he was gettingin for. You don’t go asking people in this game why they do it—they’reliable to get awfully uneasy and none of them canever give you an answer that makes sense. Anyway, Stone hadborrowed three men from the Lab, and had the supplies andequipment all lined up when we got there, ready to checkand test. We dug right in. With plenty of funds—tri-V money andsome government cash the Major had talked his way around—ourequipment was new and good. Mikuta had done the designingand testing himself, with a big assist from Sanderson.We had four Bugs, three of them the light pillow-tire models,with special lead-cooled cut-in engines when the heat set in,and one heavy-duty tractor model for pulling the sledges. The Major went over them like a kid at the circus. Then hesaid, “Have you heard anything from McIvers?” “Who’s he?” Stone wanted to know. “He’ll be joining us. He’s a good man—got quite a namefor climbing, back home.” The Major turned to me. “You’veprobably heard of him.” I’d heard plenty of stories about Ted McIvers and I wasn’ttoo happy to hear that he was joining us. “Kind of a daredevil,isn’t he?” “Maybe. He’s lucky and skillful. Where do you draw theline? We’ll need plenty of both.” “Have you ever worked with him?” I asked. “No. Are you worried?” “Not exactly. But Brightside is no place to count on luck.” The Major laughed. “I don’t think we need to worry aboutMcIvers. We understood each other when I talked up thetrip to him and we’re going to need each other too much todo any fooling around.” He turned back to the supply list.“Meanwhile, let’s get this stuff listed and packed. We’ll needto cut weight sharply and our time is short. Sanderson sayswe should leave in three days.” Two days later, McIvers hadn’t arrived. The Major didn’tsay much about it. Stone was getting edgy and so was I. Wespent the second day studying charts of the Brightside, such asthey were. The best available were pretty poor, taken from sofar out that the detail dissolved into blurs on blow-up. Theyshowed the biggest ranges of peaks and craters and faults, andthat was all. Still, we could use them to plan a broad outlineof our course. “This range here,” the Major said as we crowded aroundthe board, “is largely inactive, according to Sanderson. Butthese to the south and west could be active. Seismographtracings suggest a lot of activity in that region, getting worsedown toward the equator—not only volcanic, but sub-surfaceshifting.” Stone nodded. “Sanderson told me there was probably constantsurface activity.” The Major shrugged. “Well, it’s treacherous, there’s nodoubt of it. But the only way to avoid it is to travel over thePole, which would lose us days and offer us no guarantee ofless activity to the west. Now we might avoid some if we couldfind a pass through this range and cut sharp east—” It seemed that the more we considered the problem, thefurther we got from a solution. We knew there were activevolcanoes on the Brightside—even on the Darkside, thoughsurface activity there was pretty much slowed down andlocalized. But there were problems of atmosphere on Brightside, aswell. There was an atmosphere and a constant atmosphericflow from Brightside to Darkside. Not much—the lighter gaseshad reached escape velocity and disappeared from Brightsidemillennia ago—but there was CO 2 , and nitrogen, and traces ofother heavier gases. There was also an abundance of sulfurvapor, as well as carbon disulfide and sulfur dioxide. The atmospheric tide moved toward the Darkside, where itcondensed, carrying enough volcanic ash with it for Sandersonto estimate the depth and nature of the surface upheavals onBrightside from his samplings. The trick was to find a passagethat avoided those upheavals as far as possible. But in the finalanalysis, we were barely scraping the surface. The only waywe would find out what was happening where was to be there. Finally, on the third day, McIvers blew in on a freightrocket from Venus. He’d missed the ship that the Major andI had taken by a few hours, and had conned his way to Venusin hopes of getting a hop from there. He didn’t seem too upsetabout it, as though this were his usual way of doing things andhe couldn’t see why everyone should get so excited. He was a tall, rangy man with long, wavy hair prematurelygray, and the sort of eyes that looked like a climber’s—half-closed,sleepy, almost indolent, but capable of abrupt alertness.And he never stood still; he was always moving, always doingsomething with his hands, or talking, or pacing about. Evidently the Major decided not to press the issue of hisarrival. There was still work to do, and an hour later we wererunning the final tests on the pressure suits. That evening,Stone and McIvers were thick as thieves, and everything wasset for an early departure after we got some rest. <doc-sep>“And that,” said Baron, finishing his drink and signalingthe waiter for another pair, “was your first big mistake.” Peter Claney raised his eyebrows. “McIvers?” “Of course.” Claney shrugged, glanced at the small quiet tables aroundthem. “There are lots of bizarre personalities around a placelike this, and some of the best wouldn’t seem to be the mostreliable at first glance. Anyway, personality problems weren’tour big problem right then. Equipment worried us first and route next.” Baron nodded in agreement. “What kind of suits did youhave?” “The best insulating suits ever made,” said Claney. “Eachone had an inner lining of a fiberglass modification, to avoidthe clumsiness of asbestos, and carried the refrigerating unitand oxygen storage which we recharged from the sledges everyeight hours. Outer layer carried a monomolecular chrome reflectingsurface that made us glitter like Christmas trees. Andwe had a half-inch dead-air space under positive pressure betweenthe two layers. Warning thermocouples, of course—at770 degrees, it wouldn’t take much time to fry us to cindersif the suits failed somewhere.” “How about the Bugs?” “They were insulated, too, but we weren’t counting onthem too much for protection.” “You weren’t!” Baron exclaimed. “Why not?” “We’d be in and out of them too much. They gave us mobilityand storage, but we knew we’d have to do a lot offorward work on foot.” Claney smiled bitterly. “Which meantthat we had an inch of fiberglass and a half-inch of dead airbetween us and a surface temperature where lead flowed likewater and zinc was almost at melting point and the pools ofsulfur in the shadows were boiling like oatmeal over a campfire.” Baron licked his lips. His fingers stroked the cool, wet glassas he set it down on the tablecloth. “Go on,” he said tautly. “You started on schedule?” “Oh, yes,” said Claney, “we started on schedule, all right.We just didn’t quite end on schedule, that was all. But I’mgetting to that.” He settled back in his chair and continued. <doc-sep>We jumped off from Twilight on a course due southeastwith thirty days to make it to the Center of Brightside. If wecould cross an average of seventy miles a day, we could hitCenter exactly at perihelion, the point of Mercury’s closestapproach to the Sun—which made Center the hottest part ofthe planet at the hottest it ever gets. The Sun was already huge and yellow over the horizonwhen we started, twice the size it appears on Earth. Every daythat Sun would grow bigger and whiter, and every day thesurface would get hotter. But once we reached Center, the jobwas only half done—we would still have to travel anothertwo thousand miles to the opposite twilight zone. Sandersonwas to meet us on the other side in the Laboratory’s scout ship,approximately sixty days from the time we jumped off. That was the plan, in outline. It was up to us to cross thoseseventy miles a day, no matter how hot it became, no matterwhat terrain we had to cross. Detours would be dangerous andtime-consuming. Delays could cost us our lives. We all knewthat. The Major briefed us on details an hour before we left.“Peter, you’ll take the lead Bug, the small one we strippeddown for you. Stone and I will flank you on either side, givingyou a hundred-yard lead. McIvers, you’ll have the job ofdragging the sledges, so we’ll have to direct your course prettyclosely. Peter’s job is to pick the passage at any given point.If there’s any doubt of safe passage, we’ll all explore aheadon foot before we risk the Bugs. Got that?” McIvers and Stone exchanged glances. McIvers said: “Jackand I were planning to change around. We figured he couldtake the sledges. That would give me a little more mobility.” The Major looked up sharply at Stone. “Do you buy that,Jack?” Stone shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mac wanted—” McIvers made an impatient gesture with his hands. “Itdoesn’t matter. I just feel better when I’m on the move. Doesit make any difference?” “I guess it doesn’t,” said the Major. “Then you’ll flankPeter along with me. Right?” “Sure, sure.” McIvers pulled at his lower lip. “Who’s goingto do the advance scouting?” “It sounds like I am,” I cut in. “We want to keep the leadBug light as possible.” Mikuta nodded. “That’s right. Peter’s Bug is stripped downto the frame and wheels.” McIvers shook his head. “No, I mean the advance work.You need somebody out ahead—four or five miles, at least—topick up the big flaws and active surface changes, don’t you?”He stared at the Major. “I mean, how can we tell what sort ofa hole we may be moving into, unless we have a scout upahead?” “That’s what we have the charts for,” the Major saidsharply. “Charts! I’m talking about detail work. We don’t need toworry about the major topography. It’s the little faults youcan’t see on the pictures that can kill us.” He tossed the chartsdown excitedly. “Look, let me take a Bug out ahead and workreconnaissance, keep five, maybe ten miles ahead of the column.I can stay on good solid ground, of course, but scan thearea closely and radio back to Peter where to avoid the flaws.Then—” “No dice,” the Major broke in. “But why not? We could save ourselves days!” “I don’t care what we could save. We stay together. Whenwe get to the Center, I want live men along with me. Thatmeans we stay within easy sight of each other at all times. Anyclimber knows that everybody is safer in a party than one manalone—any time, any place.” McIvers stared at him, his cheeks an angry red. Finally hegave a sullen nod. “Okay. If you say so.” “Well, I say so and I mean it. I don’t want any fancy stuff.We’re going to hit Center together, and finish the Crossing together.Got that?” McIvers nodded. Mikuta then looked at Stone and me andwe nodded, too. “All right,” he said slowly. “Now that we’ve got it straight,let’s go.” It was hot. If I forget everything else about that trek, I’llnever forget that huge yellow Sun glaring down, without abreak, hotter and hotter with every mile. We knew that thefirst few days would be the easiest and we were rested andfresh when we started down the long ragged gorge southeast ofthe Twilight Lab. I moved out first; back over my shoulder, I could see theMajor and McIvers crawling out behind me, their pillow tirestaking the rugged floor of the gorge smoothly. Behind them,Stone dragged the sledges. Even at only 30 per cent Earth gravity they were a strain onthe big tractor, until the ski-blades bit into the fluffy volcanicash blanketing the valley. We even had a path to follow forthe first twenty miles. I kept my eyes pasted to the big polaroid binocs, picking outthe track the early research teams had made out into the edgeof Brightside. But in a couple of hours we rumbled past Sanderson’slittle outpost observatory and the tracks stopped. Wewere in virgin territory and already the Sun was beginning tobite. We didn’t feel the heat so much those first days out. We saw it. The refrig units kept our skins at a nice comfortable seventy-fivedegrees Fahrenheit inside our suits, but our eyes watchedthat glaring Sun and the baked yellow rocks going past, andsome nerve pathways got twisted up, somehow. We pouredsweat as if we were in a superheated furnace. We drove eight hours and slept five. When a sleep periodcame due, we pulled the Bugs together into a square, threw upa light aluminum sun-shield and lay out in the dust and rocks.The sun-shield cut the temperature down sixty or seventydegrees, for whatever help that was. And then we ate from theforward sledge—sucking through tubes—protein, carbohydrates,bulk gelatin, vitamins. The Major measured water out with an iron hand, becausewe’d have drunk ourselves into nephritis in a week otherwise.We were constantly, unceasingly thirsty. Ask the physiologistsand psychiatrists why—they can give you have a dozen interestingreasons—but all we knew, or cared about, was that ithappened to be so. We didn’t sleep the first few stops, as a consequence. Oureyes burned in spite of the filters and we had roaring headaches,but we couldn’t sleep them off. We sat around lookingat each other. Then McIvers would say how good a beer wouldtaste, and off we’d go. We’d have murdered our grandmothersfor one ice-cold bottle of beer. After a few driving periods, I began to get my bearings atthe wheel. We were moving down into desolation that madeEarth’s old Death Valley look like a Japanese rose garden.Huge sun-baked cracks opened up in the floor of the gorge,with black cliffs jutting up on either side; the air was filledwith a barely visible yellowish mist of sulfur and sulfurousgases. It was a hot, barren hole, no place for any man to go, butthe challenge was so powerful you could almost feel it. No onehad ever crossed this land before and escaped. Those who hadtried it had been cruelly punished, but the land was still there,so it had to be crossed. Not the easy way. It had to be crossedthe hardest way possible: overland, through anything the landcould throw up to us, at the most difficult time possible. Yet we knew that even the land might have been conqueredbefore, except for that Sun. We’d fought absolute cold beforeand won. We’d never fought heat like this and won. The onlyworse heat in the Solar System was the surface of the Sunitself. Brightside was worth trying for. We would get it or it wouldget us. That was the bargain. I learned a lot about Mercury those first few driving periods.The gorge petered out after a hundred miles and we movedonto the slope of a range of ragged craters that ran south andeast. This range had shown no activity since the first landingon Mercury forty years before, but beyond it there were activecones. Yellow fumes rose from the craters constantly; theirsides were shrouded with heavy ash. We couldn’t detect a wind, but we knew there was a hot,sulfurous breeze sweeping in great continental tides across theface of the planet. Not enough for erosion, though. The cratersrose up out of jagged gorges, huge towering spears of rock andrubble. Below were the vast yellow flatlands, smoking and hissingfrom the gases beneath the crust. Over everything was graydust—silicates and salts, pumice and limestone and graniteash, filling crevices and declivities—offering a soft, treacheroussurface for the Bug’s pillow tires. I learned to read the ground, to tell a covered fault by thesag of the dust; I learned to spot a passable crack, and tell itfrom an impassable cut. Time after time the Bugs ground toa halt while we explored a passage on foot, tied together withlight copper cable, digging, advancing, digging some moreuntil we were sure the surface would carry the machines. Itwas cruel work; we slept in exhaustion. But it went smoothly,at first. Too smoothly, it seemed to me, and the others seemed tothink so, too. McIvers’ restlessness was beginning to grate on our nerves.He talked too much, while we were resting or while we weredriving; wisecracks, witticisms, unfunny jokes that wore thinwith repetition. He took to making side trips from the routenow and then, never far, but a little further each time. Jack Stone reacted quite the opposite; he grew quieter witheach stop, more reserved and apprehensive. I didn’t like it, butI figured that it would pass off after a while. I was apprehensiveenough myself; I just managed to hide it better. And every mile the Sun got bigger and whiter and higher inthe sky and hotter. Without our ultra-violet screens and glarefilters we would have been blinded; as it was our eyes achedconstantly and the skin on our faces itched and tingled at theend of an eight-hour trek. But it took one of those side trips of McIvers’ to deliver thepenultimate blow to our already fraying nerves. He had drivendown a side-branch of a long canyon running off west of ourroute and was almost out of sight in a cloud of ash when weheard a sharp cry through our earphones. I wheeled my Bug around with my heart in my throat andspotted him through the binocs, waving frantically from thetop of his machine. The Major and I took off, lumbering downthe gulch after him as fast as the Bugs could go, with a thousandhorrible pictures racing through our minds.... We found him standing stock-still, pointing down the gorgeand, for once, he didn’t have anything to say. It was the wreckof a Bug; an old-fashioned half-track model of the sort thathadn’t been in use for years. It was wedged tight in a cut inthe rock, an axle broken, its casing split wide open up themiddle, half-buried in a rock slide. A dozen feet away weretwo insulated suits with white bones gleaming through thefiberglass helmets. This was as far as Wyatt and Carpenter had gotten on their Brightside Crossing. <doc-sep>On the fifth driving period out, the terrain began to change.It looked the same, but every now and then it felt different.On two occasions I felt my wheels spin, with a howl of protestfrom my engine. Then, quite suddenly, the Bug gave a lurch;I gunned my motor and nothing happened. I could see the dull gray stuff seeping up around the hubs,thick and tenacious, splattering around in steaming gobs asthe wheels spun. I knew what had happened the moment thewheels gave and, a few minutes later, they chained me to thetractor and dragged me back out of the mire. It looked forall the world like thick gray mud, but it was a pit of moltenlead, steaming under a soft layer of concealing ash. I picked my way more cautiously then. We were getting intoan area of recent surface activity; the surface was really treacherous.I caught myself wishing that the Major had okayedMcIvers’ scheme for an advanced scout; more dangerous forthe individual, maybe, but I was driving blind now and I didn’tlike it. One error in judgment could sink us all, but I wasn’t thinkingmuch about the others. I was worried about me , plentyworried. I kept thinking, better McIvers should go than me.It wasn’t healthy thinking and I knew it, but I couldn’t get thethought out of my mind. It was a grueling eight hours and we slept poorly. Back inthe Bug again, we moved still more slowly—edging out on abroad flat plateau, dodging a network of gaping surface cracks—windingback and forth in an effort to keep the machines onsolid rock. I couldn’t see far ahead, because of the yellow hazerising from the cracks, so I was almost on top of it when I sawa sharp cut ahead where the surface dropped six feet beyonda deep crack. I let out a shout to halt the others; then I edged my Bugforward, peering at the cleft. It was deep and wide. I movedfifty yards to the left, then back to the right. There was only one place that looked like a possible crossing;a long, narrow ledge of gray stuff that lay down acrossa section of the fault like a ramp. Even as I watched it, I couldfeel the surface crust under the Bug trembling and saw theledge shift over a few feet. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of the Brightside Crossing?

The Brightside Crossing is an undiscovered portion of Mercury. It is the closest planet to the sun, and the Brightside is the surface that is face-to-face with the surface of the sun most of the time, thanks to Mercury’s quick orbit. It is an incredibly dangerous area of Mercury, with temperatures reaching up to 770 degrees Fahrenheit, possibly more. Because of the difficult atmosphere, the presence of dangerous gases, treacherous landscape, and the heat, the Brightside Crossing remained undiscovered and uninhabitable for hundreds of years. Major Tom Mikuta decided to follow in the footsteps of Wyatt and Carpenter and take on the challenge. The promise of power and discovery draws the main characters forward, as well as the idea of being the first. Mikuta claims that if he were to make the crossing, Mercury would be his. The challenge of the Brightside Crossing is the origin of their desire.

Who is Jack Stone, and what happens to him throughout the story? [SEP] <s> Brightside Crossing by Alan E. Nourse JAMES BARON was not pleased to hear that he had hada visitor when he reached the Red Lion that evening. Hehad no stomach for mysteries, vast or trifling, and therewere pressing things to think about at this time. Yet the doormanhad flagged him as he came in from the street: “A thousandpardons, Mr. Baron. The gentleman—he would leave noname. He said you’d want to see him. He will be back byeight.” Now Baron drummed his fingers on the table top, staringabout the quiet lounge. Street trade was discouraged at theRed Lion, gently but persuasively; the patrons were few innumber. Across to the right was a group that Baron knewvaguely—Andean climbers, or at least two of them were. Overnear the door he recognized old Balmer, who had mappedthe first passage to the core of Vulcan Crater on Venus. Baronreturned his smile with a nod. Then he settled back andwaited impatiently for the intruder who demanded his timewithout justifying it. Presently a small, grizzled man crossed the room and satdown at Baron’s table. He was short and wiry. His face heldno key to his age—he might have been thirty or a thousand—buthe looked weary and immensely ugly. His cheeks andforehead were twisted and brown, with scars that were stillhealing. The stranger said, “I’m glad you waited. I’ve heard you’replanning to attempt the Brightside.” Baron stared at the man for a moment. “I see you can readtelecasts,” he said coldly. “The news was correct. We are goingto make a Brightside Crossing.” “At perihelion?” “Of course. When else?” The grizzled man searched Baron’s face for a momentwithout expression. Then he said slowly, “No, I’m afraid you’renot going to make the Crossing.” “Say, who are you, if you don’t mind?” Baron demanded. “The name is Claney,” said the stranger. There was a silence. Then: “Claney? Peter Claney?” “That’s right.” Baron’s eyes were wide with excitement, all trace of angergone. “Great balls of fire, man— where have you been hiding? We’ve been trying to contact you for months!” “I know. I was hoping you’d quit looking and chuck thewhole idea.” “Quit looking!” Baron bent forward over the table. “Myfriend, we’d given up hope, but we’ve never quit looking.Here, have a drink. There’s so much you can tell us.” Hisfingers were trembling. Peter Claney shook his head. “I can’t tell you anything youwant to hear.” “But you’ve got to. You’re the only man on Earth who’sattempted a Brightside Crossing and lived through it! And thestory you cleared for the news—it was nothing. We need details . Where did your equipment fall down? Where did youmiscalculate? What were the trouble spots?” Baron jabbed afinger at Claney’s face. “That, for instance—epithelioma?Why? What was wrong with your glass? Your filters? We’vegot to know those things. If you can tell us, we can makeit across where your attempt failed—” “You want to know why we failed?” asked Claney. “Of course we want to know. We have to know.” “It’s simple. We failed because it can’t be done. We couldn’tdo it and neither can you. No human beings will ever crossthe Brightside alive, not if they try for centuries.” “Nonsense,” Baron declared. “We will.” Claney shrugged. “I was there. I know what I’m saying. Youcan blame the equipment or the men—there were flaws inboth quarters—but we just didn’t know what we were fighting.It was the planet that whipped us, that and the Sun . They’llwhip you, too, if you try it.” “Never,” said Baron. “Let me tell you,” Peter Claney said. <doc-sep>I’d been interested in the Brightside for almost as long asI can remember (Claney said). I guess I was about ten whenWyatt and Carpenter made the last attempt—that was in 2082,I think. I followed the news stories like a tri-V serial and thenI was heartbroken when they just disappeared. I know now that they were a pair of idiots, starting off withoutproper equipment, with practically no knowledge of surfaceconditions, without any charts—they couldn’t have madea hundred miles—but I didn’t know that then and it was aterrible tragedy. After that, I followed Sanderson’s work in theTwilight Lab up there and began to get Brightside into myblood, sure as death. But it was Mikuta’s idea to attempt a Crossing. Did you everknow Tom Mikuta? I don’t suppose you did. No, not Japanese—Polish-American.He was a major in the Interplanetary Servicefor some years and hung onto the title after he gave uphis commission. He was with Armstrong on Mars during his Service days,did a good deal of the original mapping and surveying forthe Colony there. I first met him on Venus; we spent fiveyears together up there doing some of the nastiest exploringsince the Matto Grasso. Then he made the attempt on VulcanCrater that paved the way for Balmer a few years later. I’d always liked the Major—he was big and quiet and cool,the sort of guy who always had things figured a little furtherahead than anyone else and always knew what to do in a tightplace. Too many men in this game are all nerve and luck,with no judgment. The Major had both. He also had the kindof personality that could take a crew of wild men andmake them work like a well-oiled machine across a thousandmiles of Venus jungle. I liked him and I trusted him. He contacted me in New York and he was very casual atfirst. We spent an evening here at the Red Lion, talking aboutold times; he told me about the Vulcan business, and how he’dbeen out to see Sanderson and the Twilight Lab on Mercury,and how he preferred a hot trek to a cold one any day of theyear—and then he wanted to know what I’d been doing sinceVenus and what my plans were. “No particular plans,” I told him. “Why?” He looked me over. “How much do you weigh, Peter?” I told him one-thirty-five. “That much!” he said. “Well, there can’t be much fat onyou, at any rate. How do you take heat?” “You should know,” I said. “Venus was no icebox.” “No, I mean real heat.” Then I began to get it. “You’re planning a trip.” “That’s right. A hot trip.” He grinned at me. “Might bedangerous, too.” “What trip?” “Brightside of Mercury,” the Major said. I whistled cautiously. “At aphelion?” He threw his head back. “Why try a Crossing at aphelion?What have you done then? Four thousand miles of butcherousheat, just to have some joker come along, use your data anddrum you out of the glory by crossing at perihelion forty-fourdays later? No, thanks. I want the Brightside without any nonsenseabout it.” He leaned across me eagerly. “I want to makea Crossing at perihelion and I want to cross on the surface. Ifa man can do that, he’s got Mercury. Until then, nobody’s gotMercury. I want Mercury—but I’ll need help getting it.” I’d thought of it a thousand times and never dared considerit. Nobody had, since Wyatt and Carpenter disappeared. Mercuryturns on its axis in the same time that it wheels aroundthe Sun, which means that the Brightside is always facing in.That makes the Brightside of Mercury at perihelion the hottestplace in the Solar System, with one single exception: thesurface of the Sun itself. It would be a hellish trek. Only a few men had ever learnedjust how hellish and they never came back to tell about it. Itwas a real hell’s Crossing, but someday, I thought, somebodywould cross it. I wanted to be along. <doc-sep>The Twilight Lab, near the northern pole of Mercury, was theobvious jumping-off place. The setup there wasn’t very extensive—arocket landing, the labs and quarters for Sanderson’screw sunk deep into the crust, and the tower that housedthe Solar ’scope that Sanderson had built up there ten yearsbefore. Twilight Lab wasn’t particularly interested in the Brightside,of course—the Sun was Sanderson’s baby and he’d pickedMercury as the closest chunk of rock to the Sun that couldhold his observatory. He’d chosen a good location, too. OnMercury, the Brightside temperature hits 770° F. at perihelionand the Darkside runs pretty constant at -410° F. No permanentinstallation with a human crew could survive at eitherextreme. But with Mercury’s wobble, the twilight zone betweenBrightside and Darkside offers something closer to survivaltemperatures. Sanderson built the Lab up near the pole, where the zoneis about five miles wide, so the temperature only varies 50 to60 degrees with the libration. The Solar ’scope could take thatmuch change and they’d get good clear observation of the Sunfor about seventy out of the eighty-eight days it takes the planetto wheel around. The Major was counting on Sanderson knowing somethingabout Mercury as well as the Sun when we camped at the Labto make final preparations. Sanderson did. He thought we’d lost our minds and he saidso, but he gave us all the help he could. He spent a weekbriefing Jack Stone, the third member of our party, who hadarrived with the supplies and equipment a few days earlier.Poor Jack met us at the rocket landing almost bawling, Sandersonhad given him such a gloomy picture of what Brightsidewas like. Stone was a youngster—hardly twenty-five, I’d say—buthe’d been with the Major at Vulcan and had begged to jointhis trek. I had a funny feeling that Jack really didn’t care forexploring too much, but he thought Mikuta was God, followedhim around like a puppy. It didn’t matter to me as long as he knew what he was gettingin for. You don’t go asking people in this game why they do it—they’reliable to get awfully uneasy and none of them canever give you an answer that makes sense. Anyway, Stone hadborrowed three men from the Lab, and had the supplies andequipment all lined up when we got there, ready to checkand test. We dug right in. With plenty of funds—tri-V money andsome government cash the Major had talked his way around—ourequipment was new and good. Mikuta had done the designingand testing himself, with a big assist from Sanderson.We had four Bugs, three of them the light pillow-tire models,with special lead-cooled cut-in engines when the heat set in,and one heavy-duty tractor model for pulling the sledges. The Major went over them like a kid at the circus. Then hesaid, “Have you heard anything from McIvers?” “Who’s he?” Stone wanted to know. “He’ll be joining us. He’s a good man—got quite a namefor climbing, back home.” The Major turned to me. “You’veprobably heard of him.” I’d heard plenty of stories about Ted McIvers and I wasn’ttoo happy to hear that he was joining us. “Kind of a daredevil,isn’t he?” “Maybe. He’s lucky and skillful. Where do you draw theline? We’ll need plenty of both.” “Have you ever worked with him?” I asked. “No. Are you worried?” “Not exactly. But Brightside is no place to count on luck.” The Major laughed. “I don’t think we need to worry aboutMcIvers. We understood each other when I talked up thetrip to him and we’re going to need each other too much todo any fooling around.” He turned back to the supply list.“Meanwhile, let’s get this stuff listed and packed. We’ll needto cut weight sharply and our time is short. Sanderson sayswe should leave in three days.” Two days later, McIvers hadn’t arrived. The Major didn’tsay much about it. Stone was getting edgy and so was I. Wespent the second day studying charts of the Brightside, such asthey were. The best available were pretty poor, taken from sofar out that the detail dissolved into blurs on blow-up. Theyshowed the biggest ranges of peaks and craters and faults, andthat was all. Still, we could use them to plan a broad outlineof our course. “This range here,” the Major said as we crowded aroundthe board, “is largely inactive, according to Sanderson. Butthese to the south and west could be active. Seismographtracings suggest a lot of activity in that region, getting worsedown toward the equator—not only volcanic, but sub-surfaceshifting.” Stone nodded. “Sanderson told me there was probably constantsurface activity.” The Major shrugged. “Well, it’s treacherous, there’s nodoubt of it. But the only way to avoid it is to travel over thePole, which would lose us days and offer us no guarantee ofless activity to the west. Now we might avoid some if we couldfind a pass through this range and cut sharp east—” It seemed that the more we considered the problem, thefurther we got from a solution. We knew there were activevolcanoes on the Brightside—even on the Darkside, thoughsurface activity there was pretty much slowed down andlocalized. But there were problems of atmosphere on Brightside, aswell. There was an atmosphere and a constant atmosphericflow from Brightside to Darkside. Not much—the lighter gaseshad reached escape velocity and disappeared from Brightsidemillennia ago—but there was CO 2 , and nitrogen, and traces ofother heavier gases. There was also an abundance of sulfurvapor, as well as carbon disulfide and sulfur dioxide. The atmospheric tide moved toward the Darkside, where itcondensed, carrying enough volcanic ash with it for Sandersonto estimate the depth and nature of the surface upheavals onBrightside from his samplings. The trick was to find a passagethat avoided those upheavals as far as possible. But in the finalanalysis, we were barely scraping the surface. The only waywe would find out what was happening where was to be there. Finally, on the third day, McIvers blew in on a freightrocket from Venus. He’d missed the ship that the Major andI had taken by a few hours, and had conned his way to Venusin hopes of getting a hop from there. He didn’t seem too upsetabout it, as though this were his usual way of doing things andhe couldn’t see why everyone should get so excited. He was a tall, rangy man with long, wavy hair prematurelygray, and the sort of eyes that looked like a climber’s—half-closed,sleepy, almost indolent, but capable of abrupt alertness.And he never stood still; he was always moving, always doingsomething with his hands, or talking, or pacing about. Evidently the Major decided not to press the issue of hisarrival. There was still work to do, and an hour later we wererunning the final tests on the pressure suits. That evening,Stone and McIvers were thick as thieves, and everything wasset for an early departure after we got some rest. <doc-sep>“And that,” said Baron, finishing his drink and signalingthe waiter for another pair, “was your first big mistake.” Peter Claney raised his eyebrows. “McIvers?” “Of course.” Claney shrugged, glanced at the small quiet tables aroundthem. “There are lots of bizarre personalities around a placelike this, and some of the best wouldn’t seem to be the mostreliable at first glance. Anyway, personality problems weren’tour big problem right then. Equipment worried us first and route next.” Baron nodded in agreement. “What kind of suits did youhave?” “The best insulating suits ever made,” said Claney. “Eachone had an inner lining of a fiberglass modification, to avoidthe clumsiness of asbestos, and carried the refrigerating unitand oxygen storage which we recharged from the sledges everyeight hours. Outer layer carried a monomolecular chrome reflectingsurface that made us glitter like Christmas trees. Andwe had a half-inch dead-air space under positive pressure betweenthe two layers. Warning thermocouples, of course—at770 degrees, it wouldn’t take much time to fry us to cindersif the suits failed somewhere.” “How about the Bugs?” “They were insulated, too, but we weren’t counting onthem too much for protection.” “You weren’t!” Baron exclaimed. “Why not?” “We’d be in and out of them too much. They gave us mobilityand storage, but we knew we’d have to do a lot offorward work on foot.” Claney smiled bitterly. “Which meantthat we had an inch of fiberglass and a half-inch of dead airbetween us and a surface temperature where lead flowed likewater and zinc was almost at melting point and the pools ofsulfur in the shadows were boiling like oatmeal over a campfire.” Baron licked his lips. His fingers stroked the cool, wet glassas he set it down on the tablecloth. “Go on,” he said tautly. “You started on schedule?” “Oh, yes,” said Claney, “we started on schedule, all right.We just didn’t quite end on schedule, that was all. But I’mgetting to that.” He settled back in his chair and continued. <doc-sep>We jumped off from Twilight on a course due southeastwith thirty days to make it to the Center of Brightside. If wecould cross an average of seventy miles a day, we could hitCenter exactly at perihelion, the point of Mercury’s closestapproach to the Sun—which made Center the hottest part ofthe planet at the hottest it ever gets. The Sun was already huge and yellow over the horizonwhen we started, twice the size it appears on Earth. Every daythat Sun would grow bigger and whiter, and every day thesurface would get hotter. But once we reached Center, the jobwas only half done—we would still have to travel anothertwo thousand miles to the opposite twilight zone. Sandersonwas to meet us on the other side in the Laboratory’s scout ship,approximately sixty days from the time we jumped off. That was the plan, in outline. It was up to us to cross thoseseventy miles a day, no matter how hot it became, no matterwhat terrain we had to cross. Detours would be dangerous andtime-consuming. Delays could cost us our lives. We all knewthat. The Major briefed us on details an hour before we left.“Peter, you’ll take the lead Bug, the small one we strippeddown for you. Stone and I will flank you on either side, givingyou a hundred-yard lead. McIvers, you’ll have the job ofdragging the sledges, so we’ll have to direct your course prettyclosely. Peter’s job is to pick the passage at any given point.If there’s any doubt of safe passage, we’ll all explore aheadon foot before we risk the Bugs. Got that?” McIvers and Stone exchanged glances. McIvers said: “Jackand I were planning to change around. We figured he couldtake the sledges. That would give me a little more mobility.” The Major looked up sharply at Stone. “Do you buy that,Jack?” Stone shrugged. “I don’t mind. Mac wanted—” McIvers made an impatient gesture with his hands. “Itdoesn’t matter. I just feel better when I’m on the move. Doesit make any difference?” “I guess it doesn’t,” said the Major. “Then you’ll flankPeter along with me. Right?” “Sure, sure.” McIvers pulled at his lower lip. “Who’s goingto do the advance scouting?” “It sounds like I am,” I cut in. “We want to keep the leadBug light as possible.” Mikuta nodded. “That’s right. Peter’s Bug is stripped downto the frame and wheels.” McIvers shook his head. “No, I mean the advance work.You need somebody out ahead—four or five miles, at least—topick up the big flaws and active surface changes, don’t you?”He stared at the Major. “I mean, how can we tell what sort ofa hole we may be moving into, unless we have a scout upahead?” “That’s what we have the charts for,” the Major saidsharply. “Charts! I’m talking about detail work. We don’t need toworry about the major topography. It’s the little faults youcan’t see on the pictures that can kill us.” He tossed the chartsdown excitedly. “Look, let me take a Bug out ahead and workreconnaissance, keep five, maybe ten miles ahead of the column.I can stay on good solid ground, of course, but scan thearea closely and radio back to Peter where to avoid the flaws.Then—” “No dice,” the Major broke in. “But why not? We could save ourselves days!” “I don’t care what we could save. We stay together. Whenwe get to the Center, I want live men along with me. Thatmeans we stay within easy sight of each other at all times. Anyclimber knows that everybody is safer in a party than one manalone—any time, any place.” McIvers stared at him, his cheeks an angry red. Finally hegave a sullen nod. “Okay. If you say so.” “Well, I say so and I mean it. I don’t want any fancy stuff.We’re going to hit Center together, and finish the Crossing together.Got that?” McIvers nodded. Mikuta then looked at Stone and me andwe nodded, too. “All right,” he said slowly. “Now that we’ve got it straight,let’s go.” It was hot. If I forget everything else about that trek, I’llnever forget that huge yellow Sun glaring down, without abreak, hotter and hotter with every mile. We knew that thefirst few days would be the easiest and we were rested andfresh when we started down the long ragged gorge southeast ofthe Twilight Lab. I moved out first; back over my shoulder, I could see theMajor and McIvers crawling out behind me, their pillow tirestaking the rugged floor of the gorge smoothly. Behind them,Stone dragged the sledges. Even at only 30 per cent Earth gravity they were a strain onthe big tractor, until the ski-blades bit into the fluffy volcanicash blanketing the valley. We even had a path to follow forthe first twenty miles. I kept my eyes pasted to the big polaroid binocs, picking outthe track the early research teams had made out into the edgeof Brightside. But in a couple of hours we rumbled past Sanderson’slittle outpost observatory and the tracks stopped. Wewere in virgin territory and already the Sun was beginning tobite. We didn’t feel the heat so much those first days out. We saw it. The refrig units kept our skins at a nice comfortable seventy-fivedegrees Fahrenheit inside our suits, but our eyes watchedthat glaring Sun and the baked yellow rocks going past, andsome nerve pathways got twisted up, somehow. We pouredsweat as if we were in a superheated furnace. We drove eight hours and slept five. When a sleep periodcame due, we pulled the Bugs together into a square, threw upa light aluminum sun-shield and lay out in the dust and rocks.The sun-shield cut the temperature down sixty or seventydegrees, for whatever help that was. And then we ate from theforward sledge—sucking through tubes—protein, carbohydrates,bulk gelatin, vitamins. The Major measured water out with an iron hand, becausewe’d have drunk ourselves into nephritis in a week otherwise.We were constantly, unceasingly thirsty. Ask the physiologistsand psychiatrists why—they can give you have a dozen interestingreasons—but all we knew, or cared about, was that ithappened to be so. We didn’t sleep the first few stops, as a consequence. Oureyes burned in spite of the filters and we had roaring headaches,but we couldn’t sleep them off. We sat around lookingat each other. Then McIvers would say how good a beer wouldtaste, and off we’d go. We’d have murdered our grandmothersfor one ice-cold bottle of beer. After a few driving periods, I began to get my bearings atthe wheel. We were moving down into desolation that madeEarth’s old Death Valley look like a Japanese rose garden.Huge sun-baked cracks opened up in the floor of the gorge,with black cliffs jutting up on either side; the air was filledwith a barely visible yellowish mist of sulfur and sulfurousgases. It was a hot, barren hole, no place for any man to go, butthe challenge was so powerful you could almost feel it. No onehad ever crossed this land before and escaped. Those who hadtried it had been cruelly punished, but the land was still there,so it had to be crossed. Not the easy way. It had to be crossedthe hardest way possible: overland, through anything the landcould throw up to us, at the most difficult time possible. Yet we knew that even the land might have been conqueredbefore, except for that Sun. We’d fought absolute cold beforeand won. We’d never fought heat like this and won. The onlyworse heat in the Solar System was the surface of the Sunitself. Brightside was worth trying for. We would get it or it wouldget us. That was the bargain. I learned a lot about Mercury those first few driving periods.The gorge petered out after a hundred miles and we movedonto the slope of a range of ragged craters that ran south andeast. This range had shown no activity since the first landingon Mercury forty years before, but beyond it there were activecones. Yellow fumes rose from the craters constantly; theirsides were shrouded with heavy ash. We couldn’t detect a wind, but we knew there was a hot,sulfurous breeze sweeping in great continental tides across theface of the planet. Not enough for erosion, though. The cratersrose up out of jagged gorges, huge towering spears of rock andrubble. Below were the vast yellow flatlands, smoking and hissingfrom the gases beneath the crust. Over everything was graydust—silicates and salts, pumice and limestone and graniteash, filling crevices and declivities—offering a soft, treacheroussurface for the Bug’s pillow tires. I learned to read the ground, to tell a covered fault by thesag of the dust; I learned to spot a passable crack, and tell itfrom an impassable cut. Time after time the Bugs ground toa halt while we explored a passage on foot, tied together withlight copper cable, digging, advancing, digging some moreuntil we were sure the surface would carry the machines. Itwas cruel work; we slept in exhaustion. But it went smoothly,at first. Too smoothly, it seemed to me, and the others seemed tothink so, too. McIvers’ restlessness was beginning to grate on our nerves.He talked too much, while we were resting or while we weredriving; wisecracks, witticisms, unfunny jokes that wore thinwith repetition. He took to making side trips from the routenow and then, never far, but a little further each time. Jack Stone reacted quite the opposite; he grew quieter witheach stop, more reserved and apprehensive. I didn’t like it, butI figured that it would pass off after a while. I was apprehensiveenough myself; I just managed to hide it better. And every mile the Sun got bigger and whiter and higher inthe sky and hotter. Without our ultra-violet screens and glarefilters we would have been blinded; as it was our eyes achedconstantly and the skin on our faces itched and tingled at theend of an eight-hour trek. But it took one of those side trips of McIvers’ to deliver thepenultimate blow to our already fraying nerves. He had drivendown a side-branch of a long canyon running off west of ourroute and was almost out of sight in a cloud of ash when weheard a sharp cry through our earphones. I wheeled my Bug around with my heart in my throat andspotted him through the binocs, waving frantically from thetop of his machine. The Major and I took off, lumbering downthe gulch after him as fast as the Bugs could go, with a thousandhorrible pictures racing through our minds.... We found him standing stock-still, pointing down the gorgeand, for once, he didn’t have anything to say. It was the wreckof a Bug; an old-fashioned half-track model of the sort thathadn’t been in use for years. It was wedged tight in a cut inthe rock, an axle broken, its casing split wide open up themiddle, half-buried in a rock slide. A dozen feet away weretwo insulated suits with white bones gleaming through thefiberglass helmets. This was as far as Wyatt and Carpenter had gotten on their Brightside Crossing. <doc-sep>On the fifth driving period out, the terrain began to change.It looked the same, but every now and then it felt different.On two occasions I felt my wheels spin, with a howl of protestfrom my engine. Then, quite suddenly, the Bug gave a lurch;I gunned my motor and nothing happened. I could see the dull gray stuff seeping up around the hubs,thick and tenacious, splattering around in steaming gobs asthe wheels spun. I knew what had happened the moment thewheels gave and, a few minutes later, they chained me to thetractor and dragged me back out of the mire. It looked forall the world like thick gray mud, but it was a pit of moltenlead, steaming under a soft layer of concealing ash. I picked my way more cautiously then. We were getting intoan area of recent surface activity; the surface was really treacherous.I caught myself wishing that the Major had okayedMcIvers’ scheme for an advanced scout; more dangerous forthe individual, maybe, but I was driving blind now and I didn’tlike it. One error in judgment could sink us all, but I wasn’t thinkingmuch about the others. I was worried about me , plentyworried. I kept thinking, better McIvers should go than me.It wasn’t healthy thinking and I knew it, but I couldn’t get thethought out of my mind. It was a grueling eight hours and we slept poorly. Back inthe Bug again, we moved still more slowly—edging out on abroad flat plateau, dodging a network of gaping surface cracks—windingback and forth in an effort to keep the machines onsolid rock. I couldn’t see far ahead, because of the yellow hazerising from the cracks, so I was almost on top of it when I sawa sharp cut ahead where the surface dropped six feet beyonda deep crack. I let out a shout to halt the others; then I edged my Bugforward, peering at the cleft. It was deep and wide. I movedfifty yards to the left, then back to the right. There was only one place that looked like a possible crossing;a long, narrow ledge of gray stuff that lay down acrossa section of the fault like a ramp. Even as I watched it, I couldfeel the surface crust under the Bug trembling and saw theledge shift over a few feet. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Jack Stone, and what happens to him throughout the story?

Jack Stone arrives on the surface of Mercury around a week ahead of his partners. It’s revealed rather early on that Stone is not much of an explorer himself. His wits and genius make him an invaluable resource, but his heart wasn’t necessarily in the right place. Claney claims that Stone only came to follow Major Mikuta around, a man he deeply respected and admired. At barely 25 years old, Stone was the youngest member of the team. His experience with Mikuta at the Vulcan qualified him for the trek, or so he thought, and so he tagged along. His apprehension and anxiety about the trip are evident from the beginning. After Sanderson, the leader of an observatory on Mercury, explained how treacherous their journey was going to be, Stone almost cried. Once they begin their trek, Stone retreats further into himself. Jack’s job was to drag the sledges behind the rest of the crew. Possibly fed up by McIvers’ constant joking or tortured by the fear that he would be lost on this planet forever, Stone became a shell of himself. In the end, after McIvers discovered the corpses of the two discoverers that came before them, Wyatt and Carpenter, we can only assume that Stone’s fear and reservedness increased tremendously.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> DOUBLE TROUBLE by CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, that waspish science-fiction writer, was in a jam again. What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, I was running in circles—especially since Grannie became twins every now and then. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] We had left the offices of Interstellar Voice three days ago, Earthtime, and now as the immense disc of Jupiter flamed across the sky,entered the outer limits of the Baldric. Grannie Annie strode in thelead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place inthis desert as the trees. Flagpole trees. They rose straight up like enormous cat-tails, withonly a melon-shaped protuberance at the top to show they were a form ofvegetation. Everything else was blanketed by the sand and the powerfulwind that blew from all quarters. As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. This is the Baldric all right. If my calculations are right, we've hitit at its narrowest spot. Ezra Karn took a greasy pipe from his lips and spat. It looks like therest of this God-forsaken moon, he said, 'ceptin for them sticks. Xartal, the Martian illustrator, said nothing. He was like that,taciturn, speaking only when spoken to. He could be excused this time, however, for this was only our third dayon Jupiter's Eighth Moon, and the country was still strange to us. <doc-sep>When Annabella C. Flowers, that renowned writer of science fiction,visiphoned me at Crater City, Mars, to meet her here, I had thought shewas crazy. But Miss Flowers, known to her friends as Grannie Annie,had always been mildly crazy. If you haven't read her books, you'vemissed something. She's the author of Lady of the Green Flames , Lady of the Runaway Planet , Lady of the Crimson Space-Beast , andother works of science fiction. Blood-and-thunder as these books are,however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background.Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when shelaid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only atransportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her fromvisiting her stage in person. Therefore when she asked me to meet her at the landing field of Interstellar Voice on Jupiter's Eighth Moon, I knew she had anothernovel in the state of embryo. What I didn't expect was Ezra Karn. He was an old prospector Granniehad met, and he had become so attached to the authoress he now followedher wherever she went. As for Xartal, he was a Martian and was slatedto do the illustrations for Grannie's new book. Five minutes after my ship had blasted down, the four of us met in theoffices of Interstellar Voice . And then I was shaking hands withAntlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. Glad to meet you, he said cordially. I've just been trying topersuade Miss Flowers not to attempt a trip into the Baldric. What's the Baldric? I had asked. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. Will you believe me, sir, he said, when I tell you I've been outhere on this forsaken moon five years and don't rightly know myself? I scowled at that; it didn't make sense. However, as you perhaps know, the only reason for colonial activitieshere at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix.It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'mnot up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the redplanet has developed with a supersonic method of vocal communication.The Martian speaks as the Earthman does, but he amplifies his thoughts'transmission by way of wave lengths as high as three million vibrationsper second. The trouble is that by the time the average Martian reachesmiddle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases.Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their soundingapparatus, and the rush was on. What do you mean? Park leaned back. The rush to find more of the ore, he explained.But up until now this moon is the only place where it can be found. There are two companies here, he continued, Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated . Chap by the name of Jimmy Baker runs that.However, the point is, between the properties of these two companiesstretches a band or belt which has become known as the Baldric. There are two principal forms of life in the Baldric; flagpole treesand a species of ornithoid resembling cockatoos. So far no one hascrossed the Baldric without trouble. What sort of trouble? Grannie Annie had demanded. And when AntlersPark stuttered evasively, the old lady snorted, Fiddlesticks, I neversaw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. We leave in an hour. <doc-sep>So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelerson foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment andsupplies. I walked forward to get a closer view of one of the flagpole trees. Andthen abruptly I saw something else. A queer-looking bird squatted there in the sand, looking up at me.Silver in plumage, it resembled a parrot with a crest; and yet itdidn't. In some strange way the thing was a hideous caricature. Look what I found, I yelled. What I found, said the cockatoo in a very human voice. Thunder, it talks, I said amazed. Talks, repeated the bird, blinking its eyes. The cockatoo repeated my last statement again, then rose on its shortlegs, flapped its wings once and soared off into the sky. Xartal,the Martian illustrator, already had a notebook in his hands and wassketching a likeness of the creature. Ten minutes later we were on the move again. We saw more silvercockatoos and more flagpole trees. Above us, the great disc of Jupiterbegan to descend toward the horizon. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of ahigh ridge. She shielded her eyes and stared off into the plain we hadjust crossed. Billy-boy, she said to me in a strange voice, look down there andtell me what you see. I followed the direction of her hand and a shock went through me fromhead to foot. Down there, slowly toiling across the sand, advanced aparty of four persons. In the lead was a little old lady in a blackdress. Behind her strode a grizzled Earth man in a flop-brimmed hat,another Earth man, and a Martian. Detail for detail they were a duplicate of ourselves! A mirage! said Ezra Karn. But it wasn't a mirage. As the party came closer, we could see thattheir lips were moving, and their voices became audible. I listened inawe. The duplicate of myself was talking to the duplicate of GrannieAnnie, and she was replying in the most natural way. Steadily the four travelers approached. Then, when a dozen yards away,they suddenly faded like a negative exposed to light and disappeared. What do you make of it? I said in a hushed voice. Grannie shook her head. Might be a form of mass hypnosis superinducedby some chemical radiations, she replied. Whatever it is, we'd betterwatch our step. There's no telling what might lie ahead. We walked after that with taut nerves and watchful eyes, but we saw norepetition of the mirage. The wind continued to blow ceaselessly, andthe sand seemed to grow more and more powdery. For some time I had fixed my gaze on a dot in the sky which I supposedto be a high-flying cockatoo. As that dot continued to move across theheavens in a single direction, I called Grannie's attention to it. It's a kite, she nodded. There should be a car attached to itsomewhere. She offered no further explanation, but a quarter of an hour later aswe topped another rise a curious elliptical car with a long slantingwindscreen came into view. Attached to its hood was a taut wire whichslanted up into the sky to connect with the kite. A man was driving and when he saw us, he waved. Five minutes laterGrannie was shaking his hand vigorously and mumbling introductions. This is Jimmy Baker, she said. He manages Larynx Incorporated , andhe's the real reason we're here. I decided I liked Baker the moment I saw him. In his middle thirties,he was tall and lean, with pleasant blue eyes which even his sandgoggles could not conceal. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here, Grannie, he said. Ifanybody can help me, you can. Grannie's eyes glittered. Trouble with the mine laborers? shequestioned. <doc-sep>Jimmy Baker nodded. He told his story over the roar of the wind as weheaded back across the desert. Occasionally he touched a stud on anelectric windlass to which the kite wire was attached. Apparently theseadjustments moved planes or fins on the kite and accounted for thecar's ability to move in any direction. If I weren't a realist, I'd say that Larynx Incorporated has beenbewitched, he began slowly. We pay our men high wages and give themexcellent living conditions with a vacation on Callisto every year.Up until a short time ago most of them were in excellent health andspirits. Then the Red Spot Fever got them. Red Spot Fever? Grannie looked at him curiously. Jimmy Baker nodded. The first symptoms are a tendency to garrulousnesson the part of the patient. Then they disappear. He paused to make an adjustment of the windlass. They walk out into the Baldric, he continued, and nothing can stopthem. We tried following them, of course, but it was no go. As soon asthey realize they're being followed, they stop. But the moment our eyesare turned, they give us the slip. But surely you must have some idea of where they go, Grannie said. Baker lit a cigarette. There's all kinds of rumors, he replied, butnone of them will hold water. By the way, there's a cockatoo eyrieahead of us. I followed his gaze and saw a curious structure suspended betweena rude circle of flagpole trees. A strange web-like formation oftranslucent gauzy material, it was. Fully two hundred cockatoos wereperched upon it. They watched us with their mild eyes as we passed, butthey didn't move. After that we were rolling up the driveway that led to the offices of Larynx Incorporated . As Jimmy Baker led the way up the inclined ramp,a door in the central building opened, and a man emerged. His face wasdrawn. Mr. Baker, he said breathlessly, seventy-five workers at Shaft Fourhave headed out into the Baldric. Baker dropped his cigarette and ground his heel on it savagely. Shaft Four, eh? he repeated. That's our principal mine. If the feverspreads there, I'm licked. He motioned us into his office and strode across to a desk. SilentXartal, the Martian illustrator, took a chair in a corner and got hisnotebook out, sketching the room's interior. Grannie Annie remainedstanding. Presently the old lady walked across to the desk and helped herself tothe bottle of Martian whiskey there. There must be ways of stopping this, she said. Have you called inany physicians? Why don't you call an enforced vacation and send themen away until the plague has died down? Baker shook his head. Three doctors from Callisto were here lastmonth. They were as much at loss as I am. As for sending the men away,I may have to do that, but when I do, it means quits. Our company ischartered with Spacolonial, and you know what that means. Failureto produce during a period of thirty days or more, and you lose allrights. A visiphone bell sounded, and Baker walked across to the instrument. Aman's face formed in the vision plate. Baker listened, said Okay andthrew off the switch. The entire crew of Shaft Four have gone out into the Baldric, he saidslowly. There was a large map hanging on the wall back of Baker's desk.Grannie Annie walked across to it and began to study its markings. Shaft Four is at the outer edge of the Baldric at a point where thatcorridor is at its widest, she said. Baker looked up. That's right. We only began operations there acomparatively short time ago. Struck a rich vein of Acoustix thatruns deep in. If that vein holds out, we'll double the output of Interstellar Voice , our rival, in a year. Grannie nodded. I think you and I and Xartal had better take a run upthere, she said. But first I want to see your laboratory. There was no refusing her. Jimmy Baker led the way down to a lowerlevel where a huge laboratory and experimental shop ran the lengthof the building. Grannie seized a light weight carry-case and begandropping articles into it. A pontocated glass lens, three or fourWellington radite bulbs, each with a spectroscopic filament, a smalldynamo that would operate on a kite windlass, and a quantity of wireand other items. The kite car was brought out again, and the old woman, Baker and theMartian took their places in it. Then Jimmy waved, and the car began toroll down the ramp. <doc-sep>Not until they had vanished in the desert haze did I sense theloneliness of this outpost. With that loneliness came a sudden sense offoreboding. Had I been a fool to let Grannie go? I thought of her, anold woman who should be in a rocking chair, knitting socks. If anythinghappened to Annabella C. Flowers, I would never forgive myself andneither would her millions of readers. Ezra Karn and I went back into the office. The old prospector chuckled. Dang human dynamo. Got more energy than a runaway comet. A connecting door on the far side of the office opened onto a longcorridor which ended at a staircase. Let's look around, I said. We passed down the corridor and climbed the staircase to the secondfloor. Here were the general offices of Larynx Incorporated , andthrough glass doors I could see clerks busy with counting machines andreport tapes. In another chamber the extremely light Acoustix ore wasbeing packed into big cases and marked for shipment. At the far end adoor to a small room stood open. Inside a young man was tilted back ina swivel chair before a complicated instrument panel. C'mon in, he said, seeing us. If you want a look at your friends,here they are. He flicked a stud, and the entire wall above the panel underwent aslow change of colors. Those colors whirled kaleidescopically, thencoalesced into a three-dimensional scene. It was a scene of a rapidly unfolding desert country as seen from therear of a kite car. Directly behind the windscreen, backs turned to me,were Jimmy Baker, Grannie, and Xartal. It was as if I were standingdirectly behind them. It's Mr. Baker's own invention, the operator said. An improvement onthe visiphone. Do you mean to say you can follow the movements of that car and itspassengers wherever it goes? Can you hear them talk too? Sure. The operator turned another dial, and Grannie's falsetto voiceentered the room. It stopped abruptly. The machine uses a lot ofpower, the operator said, and as yet we haven't got much. The cloud of anxiety which had wrapped itself about me disappearedsomewhat as I viewed this device. At least I could now keep myselfposted of Grannie's movements. Karn and I went down to the commissary where we ate our supper. Whenwe returned to Jimmy Baker's office, the visiphone bell was ringing.I went over to it and turned it on, and to my surprise the face ofAntlers Park flashed on the screen. Hello, he said in his friendly way. I see you arrived all right. IsMiss Flowers there? Miss Flowers left with Mr. Baker for Shaft Four, I said. There'strouble up there. Red spot fever. Fever, eh? repeated Park. That's a shame. Is there anything I cando? Tell me, I said, has your company had any trouble with this plague? A little. But up until yesterday the fever's been confined to theother side of the Baldric. We had one partial case, but my chemistsgave the chap an antitoxin that seems to have worked. Come to think ofit, I might drive over to Shaft Four and give Jimmy Baker the formula.I haven't been out in the Baldric for years, but if you didn't have anytrouble, I shouldn't either. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he rang off. In exactlyan hour I went upstairs to the visiscreen room. Then once more I was directly behind my friends, listening in on theirconversation. The view through the windscreen showed an irregular arrayof flagpole trees, with the sky dotted by high-flying cockatoos. There's an eyrie over there, Jimmy Baker was saying. We might aswell camp beside it. <doc-sep>Moments later a rude circle of flagpole trees loomed ahead. Across thetop of them was stretched a translucent web. Jimmy and Grannie got outof the car and began making camp. Xartal remained in his seat. He wasdrawing pictures on large pieces of pasteboard, and as I stood there inthe visiscreen room, I watched him. There was no doubt about it, the Martian was clever. He would makea few rapid lines on one of the pasteboards, rub it a little to getthe proper shading and then go on to the next. In swift rotationlikenesses of Ezra Karn, of myself, of Jimmy Baker, and of Antlers Parktook form. Ezra spoke over my shoulder. He's doing scenes for Grannie's newbook, he said. The old lady figures on using the events here for aplot. Look at that damned nosy bird! A silver cockatoo had alighted on the kite car and was surveyingcuriously Xartal's work. As each drawing was completed, the birdscanned it with rapt attention. Abruptly it flew to the top of theeyrie, where it seemed to be having a consultation with its birdcompanions. And then abruptly it happened. The cockatoos took off in mass flight. Agroup of Earth people suddenly materialized on the eyrie, talking andmoving about as if it were the most natural thing in the world. With a shock I saw the likeness of myself; I saw Ezra Karn; and I sawthe image of Jimmy Baker. The real Jimmy Baker stood next to Grannie, staring up at thisincredible mirage. Grannie let out a whoop. I've got it! she said.Those things we see up there are nothing more than mental images.They're Xartal's drawings! <doc-sep>Don't you see, the lady continued. Everything that Xartal put onpaper has been seen by one or more of these cockatoos. The cockatoosare like Earth parrots all right, but not only have they the powerof copying speech, they also have the ability to recreate a mentalimage of what they have seen. In other words their brains form apowerful photographic impression of the object. That impression isthen transmitted simultaneously in telepathic wavelengths to commonfoci. That eyrie might be likened to a cinema screen, receiving brainvibrations from a hundred different sources that blend into the lightfield to form what are apparently three-dimensional images. The Larynx manager nodded slowly. I see, he said. But why don't thebirds reconstruct images from the actual person. Why use drawings? Probably because the drawings are exaggerated in certain details andmade a greater impression on their brains, Grannie replied. Up on the eyrie a strange performance was taking place. The duplicateof Grannie Annie was bowing to the duplicate of Jimmy Baker, and theimage of Ezra Karn was playing leap frog with the image of Antlers Park. Then abruptly the screen before me blurred and went blank. Sorry, the operator said. I've used too much power already. Have togive the generators a chance to build it up again. Nodding, I turned and motioned to Karn. We went back downstairs. That explains something at any rate, the old prospector said. Buthow about that Red spot fever? On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I openedit and found it contained the case histories of those men who had beenattacked by the strange malady. Reading them over, I was struck by one detail. Each patient hadreceived the first symptoms, not while working in the mines, but whilesleeping or lounging in the barracks. Five minutes later Karn and I were striding down a white ramp thatled to the nearest barracks. The building came into sight, a lowrectangular structure, dome-roofed to withstand the violent winds. Inside double tiers of bunks stretched along either wall. In thosebunks some thirty men lay sleeping. The far wall was taken up by a huge window of denvo-quartz. As I stoodthere, something suddenly caught Ezra Karn's eye. He began to walktoward that window. Look here, he said. Six feet up on that window a small almost imperceptible button of dullmetal had been wedged into an aperture cut in the quartz. The centralpart of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and asI seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work. All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-redrays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens toconcentrate and amplify the power of those rays. The internal clockworkserved a double purpose. It opened a shutter, and it rotated the lensslowly so that it played for a time on each of the sleeping men. I slid the metal button in my pocket and left the barracks at a run.Back in the visiscreen room, I snapped to the operator: Turn it on! The kite car swam into view in the screen above the instrument panel.I stared with open eyes. Jimmy Baker no longer was in the car, norwas Xartal, the Martian. Grannie Annie was there, but seated at thecontrols was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice. <doc-sep>Ezra Karn jabbed my elbow. Grannie's coming back. I thought she'd begetting sick of this blamed moon. It didn't make sense. In all the years I'd known Annabella C. Flowers,never yet had I seen her desert a case until she had woven the cluesand facts to a logical conclusion. Ezra, I said, we're going to drive out and meet them. There'ssomething screwy here. Ten minutes later in another kite car we were driving at a fast clipthrough the powdery sands of the Baldric. And before long we sawanother car approaching. It was Grannie. As the car drew up alongside I saw her sitting in herprim way next to Antlers Park. Park said: We left the others at the mine. Miss Flowers is going back with me tomy offices to help me improve the formula for that new antitoxin. He waved his hand, and the car moved off. I watched it as it spedacross the desert, and a growing suspicion began to form in my mind.Then, like a knife thrust, the truth struck me. Ezra! I yelled, swinging the car. That wasn't Grannie! That was oneof those damned cockatoo images. We've got to catch him. The other car was some distance ahead now. Park looked back and saw usfollowing. He did something to the kite wire, and his car leaped ahead. I threw the speed indicator hard over. Our kite was a huge box affairwith a steady powerful pull to the connecting wire. Park's vehiclewas drawn by a flat triangular kite that dove and fluttered with eachvariance of the wind. Steadily we began to close in. The manager of Interstellar Voice turned again, and something glintedin his hand. There was a flash of purple flame, and a round holeappeared in our windscreen inches above Karn's head. Heat gun! Ezra yelled. Now we were rocketing over the sand dunes, winding in and out betweenthe flagpole trees. I had to catch that car I told myself. GrannieAnnie's very life might be at stake, not to mention the lives ofhundreds of mine workers. Again Park took aim and again a holeshattered our windscreen. The wind shifted and blew from another quarter. The box kite soared,but the triangular kite faltered. Taking advantage of Park's loss ofspeed, I raced alongside. The I. V. manager lifted his weapon frantically. But before he coulduse it a third time, Ezra Karn had whipped a lariat from his belt andsent it coiling across the intervening space. The thong yanked tight about the manager's throat. Park did the onlything he could do. He shut off power, and the two cars coasted to ahalt. Then I was across in the other seat, wrenching the weapon freefrom his grasp. What have you done with Miss Flowers? I demanded. The manager's eyes glittered with fear as he saw my finger tense on thetrigger. Weakly he lifted an arm and pointed to the northwest. Val-ley. Thir-ty miles. Entrance hidden by wall of ... flagpole trees. <doc-sep>I leaped into the driver's seat and gave the kite its head. And now thecountry began to undergo a subtle change. The trees seemed to groupthemselves in a long flanking corridor in a northwesterly direction, asif to hide some secret that lay beyond. Twice I attempted to penetratethat wall, only to find my way blocked by those curious growths. Then a corridor opened before me; a mile forward and the desert beganagain. But it was a new desert this time: the sand packed hard asgranite, the way ahead utterly devoid of vegetation. In the distanceblack bulging hills extended to right and left, with a narrow chasm ordoorway between. I headed for that entrance, and when I reached it, I shut off powerwith an exclamation of astonishment. There was a huge chair-shaped rock there, and seated upon it wasGrannie Annie. She had a tablet in her hands, and she was writing. Grannie! I yelled. What're you doing here? Where's Mr. Baker? She rose to her feet and clambered down the rock. Getting back Jimmy's mine laborers, she said, a twinkle in her eyes.I see you've got Antlers Park. I'm glad of that. It saves me a lot oftrouble. She took off her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve.Don't look so fuddled, Billy-boy. Come along, and I'll show you. She led the way through the narrow passage into the valley. A deepgorge, it was, with the black sheer cliffs on either side pressingclose. Ten feet forward, I stopped short, staring in amazement. Advancing toward me like a column of infantry came a long line ofLarynx miners. They walked slowly, looking straight ahead, moving downthe center of the gorge toward the entrance. But there was more! A kite car was drawn up to the side. The windscreenhad been removed, and mounted on the hood was a large bullet-likecontrivance that looked not unlike a search lamp. A blinding shaft ofbluish radiance spewed from its open end. Playing it back and forthupon the marching men were Jimmy Baker and Xartal, the Martian. Ultra violet, Grannie Annie explained. The opposite end of thevibratory scale and the only thing that will combat the infra-red raysthat cause red spot fever. Those men won't stop walking until they'vereached Shaft Four. Grannie Annie told her story during the long ride back to Shaft Four.We drove slowly, keeping the line of marching Larynx miners alwaysahead of us. Jimmy Baker had struck a new big lode of Acoustix, a lode which ifworked successfully would see Larynx Incorporated become a far morepowerful exporting concern than Interstellar Voice . Antlers Parkdidn't want that. It was he or his agents who placed those lens buttons in the Larynxbarracks. For he knew that just as Jupiter's great spot wasresponsible for a climate and atmosphere suitable for an Earthman onthis Eighth Moon, so also was that spot a deadly power in itself,capable when its rays were concentrated of causing a fatal sickness. Then suddenly becoming fearful of Grannie's prying, Antlers Park stroveto head her off before she reached Shaft Four. He did head her off and managed to lure her and Baker and Xartal intothe Shaft barracks where they would be exposed to the rays from thelens button. But Grannie only pretended to contract the plague. Park then attempted to outwit Ezra Karn and me by returning in JimmyBaker's kite car with a cockatoo image of Grannie. <doc-sep>I listened to all this in silence. But, I said when she had finished,how did Park manage to have that image created and why did the minelaborers walk out into the Baldric when they contracted the fever? Grannie Annie frowned. I'm not sure I can answer the first of thosequestions, she replied. You must remember Antlers Park has been onthis moon five years and during that time he must have acquaintedhimself with many of its secrets. Probably he learned long ago justwhat to do to make a cockatoo create a mental image. As for the men going out into the Baldric, that was more of Park'sdiabolical work. In the walls of the barracks besides those lensbuttons were also miniature electro-hypnotic plates, with the mastercontrolling unit located in that valley. Park knew that when the minerswere in a drugged condition from the effects of the fever they wouldbe susceptible to the machine's lure.... And now, Billy-boy, are youcoming with me? Coming with you? I repeated. Where? The old lady lit a cigarette. Pluto maybe, she said. There's a penalcolony there, you know, and that ought to tie in nicely with a newcrime story. I can see it now ... prison break, stolen rocket ship,fugitives lurking in the interplanetary lanes.... Grannie, I laughed. You're incorrigible! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

The mining for a precious ore called Acoustix has spurred colonization of Jupiter’s eighth moon by two mining companies called Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated. There is a barren desert landscape between the mining areas of the two companies that is called the Baldric. The only plant appears to be trees that have melon-shaped tops, and the only animal is a silver parrot-like bird that is capable of imitating human speech, and also of imitating human forms in a holographic-like manner.Grannie Annie (AKA Annabella C. Flowers) is a famous science fiction writer, who is travelling to the Baldric with her martian employee, Xartal, who takes detailed drawings that are the background research for her next novel. She is travelling in a party of four: herself, Xartal, Ezra Karn (old prospector), and the narrator (called Billy-boy by Grannie).Strange happenings are known to occur in the Baldric. They encounter a silver bird that repeats English words and creates what seems like a mirage of themselves projected in the distance which disappears as it comes closer. They do not know at the time, but the parrot has created this mirage based on viewing one of the lifelike drawings that Xartal is making of the group.They happen to run into Jimmy Baker, the manager of the Larynx Incorporated mining company, who is interested in Grannie’s help sorting out the root cause of his workers coming down with “red spot fever” which causes them to leave their work and walk into the Baldric, never to return. They travel to Larynx Incorporated’s offices with Jimmy, where he learns all of the workers from Shaft Four have left their posts due to the fever. Coincidentally, that is also their most productive ore location. Jimmy, Grannie, and Xartal take off to Shaft Four via the Baldric to investigate what is going on. During their travel, they break for camp near a flock of the birds and discover their ability to imitate human forms.Antlers Karn, the manager of Interstellar Voice, turns out to be a bad guy who ambushes Grannie’s camp. He is trying to sabotage Jimmy’s company by causing the red spot fever to stop them from capitalizing on a huge deposit of Acoustix they discovered in Shaft Four. He steals Jimmy’s car and kidnaps a mirage-version of Grannie. Billy and Ezra chase them down and discover Antlers has stranded their friends in a valley thirty miles away. Grannie has independently solved the mystery of the Red Spot Fever and sending her mirage with Antlers was part of her master plan. When Billy and Ezra return to her, Jimmy is projecting ultra-violet light onto a large group of the Shaft Four workers in a deep valley gorge. This counteracts the infra-red radiation that put them into a trance-like state that caused them to wander into the desert.Grannie, Jimmy, Xartal, Billy, and Ezra are triumphantly returning the workers to Shaft Four at the close of the story.

What settings does the story take place in? [SEP] <s> DOUBLE TROUBLE by CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, that waspish science-fiction writer, was in a jam again. What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, I was running in circles—especially since Grannie became twins every now and then. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] We had left the offices of Interstellar Voice three days ago, Earthtime, and now as the immense disc of Jupiter flamed across the sky,entered the outer limits of the Baldric. Grannie Annie strode in thelead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place inthis desert as the trees. Flagpole trees. They rose straight up like enormous cat-tails, withonly a melon-shaped protuberance at the top to show they were a form ofvegetation. Everything else was blanketed by the sand and the powerfulwind that blew from all quarters. As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. This is the Baldric all right. If my calculations are right, we've hitit at its narrowest spot. Ezra Karn took a greasy pipe from his lips and spat. It looks like therest of this God-forsaken moon, he said, 'ceptin for them sticks. Xartal, the Martian illustrator, said nothing. He was like that,taciturn, speaking only when spoken to. He could be excused this time, however, for this was only our third dayon Jupiter's Eighth Moon, and the country was still strange to us. <doc-sep>When Annabella C. Flowers, that renowned writer of science fiction,visiphoned me at Crater City, Mars, to meet her here, I had thought shewas crazy. But Miss Flowers, known to her friends as Grannie Annie,had always been mildly crazy. If you haven't read her books, you'vemissed something. She's the author of Lady of the Green Flames , Lady of the Runaway Planet , Lady of the Crimson Space-Beast , andother works of science fiction. Blood-and-thunder as these books are,however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background.Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when shelaid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only atransportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her fromvisiting her stage in person. Therefore when she asked me to meet her at the landing field of Interstellar Voice on Jupiter's Eighth Moon, I knew she had anothernovel in the state of embryo. What I didn't expect was Ezra Karn. He was an old prospector Granniehad met, and he had become so attached to the authoress he now followedher wherever she went. As for Xartal, he was a Martian and was slatedto do the illustrations for Grannie's new book. Five minutes after my ship had blasted down, the four of us met in theoffices of Interstellar Voice . And then I was shaking hands withAntlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. Glad to meet you, he said cordially. I've just been trying topersuade Miss Flowers not to attempt a trip into the Baldric. What's the Baldric? I had asked. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. Will you believe me, sir, he said, when I tell you I've been outhere on this forsaken moon five years and don't rightly know myself? I scowled at that; it didn't make sense. However, as you perhaps know, the only reason for colonial activitieshere at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix.It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'mnot up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the redplanet has developed with a supersonic method of vocal communication.The Martian speaks as the Earthman does, but he amplifies his thoughts'transmission by way of wave lengths as high as three million vibrationsper second. The trouble is that by the time the average Martian reachesmiddle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases.Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their soundingapparatus, and the rush was on. What do you mean? Park leaned back. The rush to find more of the ore, he explained.But up until now this moon is the only place where it can be found. There are two companies here, he continued, Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated . Chap by the name of Jimmy Baker runs that.However, the point is, between the properties of these two companiesstretches a band or belt which has become known as the Baldric. There are two principal forms of life in the Baldric; flagpole treesand a species of ornithoid resembling cockatoos. So far no one hascrossed the Baldric without trouble. What sort of trouble? Grannie Annie had demanded. And when AntlersPark stuttered evasively, the old lady snorted, Fiddlesticks, I neversaw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. We leave in an hour. <doc-sep>So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelerson foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment andsupplies. I walked forward to get a closer view of one of the flagpole trees. Andthen abruptly I saw something else. A queer-looking bird squatted there in the sand, looking up at me.Silver in plumage, it resembled a parrot with a crest; and yet itdidn't. In some strange way the thing was a hideous caricature. Look what I found, I yelled. What I found, said the cockatoo in a very human voice. Thunder, it talks, I said amazed. Talks, repeated the bird, blinking its eyes. The cockatoo repeated my last statement again, then rose on its shortlegs, flapped its wings once and soared off into the sky. Xartal,the Martian illustrator, already had a notebook in his hands and wassketching a likeness of the creature. Ten minutes later we were on the move again. We saw more silvercockatoos and more flagpole trees. Above us, the great disc of Jupiterbegan to descend toward the horizon. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of ahigh ridge. She shielded her eyes and stared off into the plain we hadjust crossed. Billy-boy, she said to me in a strange voice, look down there andtell me what you see. I followed the direction of her hand and a shock went through me fromhead to foot. Down there, slowly toiling across the sand, advanced aparty of four persons. In the lead was a little old lady in a blackdress. Behind her strode a grizzled Earth man in a flop-brimmed hat,another Earth man, and a Martian. Detail for detail they were a duplicate of ourselves! A mirage! said Ezra Karn. But it wasn't a mirage. As the party came closer, we could see thattheir lips were moving, and their voices became audible. I listened inawe. The duplicate of myself was talking to the duplicate of GrannieAnnie, and she was replying in the most natural way. Steadily the four travelers approached. Then, when a dozen yards away,they suddenly faded like a negative exposed to light and disappeared. What do you make of it? I said in a hushed voice. Grannie shook her head. Might be a form of mass hypnosis superinducedby some chemical radiations, she replied. Whatever it is, we'd betterwatch our step. There's no telling what might lie ahead. We walked after that with taut nerves and watchful eyes, but we saw norepetition of the mirage. The wind continued to blow ceaselessly, andthe sand seemed to grow more and more powdery. For some time I had fixed my gaze on a dot in the sky which I supposedto be a high-flying cockatoo. As that dot continued to move across theheavens in a single direction, I called Grannie's attention to it. It's a kite, she nodded. There should be a car attached to itsomewhere. She offered no further explanation, but a quarter of an hour later aswe topped another rise a curious elliptical car with a long slantingwindscreen came into view. Attached to its hood was a taut wire whichslanted up into the sky to connect with the kite. A man was driving and when he saw us, he waved. Five minutes laterGrannie was shaking his hand vigorously and mumbling introductions. This is Jimmy Baker, she said. He manages Larynx Incorporated , andhe's the real reason we're here. I decided I liked Baker the moment I saw him. In his middle thirties,he was tall and lean, with pleasant blue eyes which even his sandgoggles could not conceal. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here, Grannie, he said. Ifanybody can help me, you can. Grannie's eyes glittered. Trouble with the mine laborers? shequestioned. <doc-sep>Jimmy Baker nodded. He told his story over the roar of the wind as weheaded back across the desert. Occasionally he touched a stud on anelectric windlass to which the kite wire was attached. Apparently theseadjustments moved planes or fins on the kite and accounted for thecar's ability to move in any direction. If I weren't a realist, I'd say that Larynx Incorporated has beenbewitched, he began slowly. We pay our men high wages and give themexcellent living conditions with a vacation on Callisto every year.Up until a short time ago most of them were in excellent health andspirits. Then the Red Spot Fever got them. Red Spot Fever? Grannie looked at him curiously. Jimmy Baker nodded. The first symptoms are a tendency to garrulousnesson the part of the patient. Then they disappear. He paused to make an adjustment of the windlass. They walk out into the Baldric, he continued, and nothing can stopthem. We tried following them, of course, but it was no go. As soon asthey realize they're being followed, they stop. But the moment our eyesare turned, they give us the slip. But surely you must have some idea of where they go, Grannie said. Baker lit a cigarette. There's all kinds of rumors, he replied, butnone of them will hold water. By the way, there's a cockatoo eyrieahead of us. I followed his gaze and saw a curious structure suspended betweena rude circle of flagpole trees. A strange web-like formation oftranslucent gauzy material, it was. Fully two hundred cockatoos wereperched upon it. They watched us with their mild eyes as we passed, butthey didn't move. After that we were rolling up the driveway that led to the offices of Larynx Incorporated . As Jimmy Baker led the way up the inclined ramp,a door in the central building opened, and a man emerged. His face wasdrawn. Mr. Baker, he said breathlessly, seventy-five workers at Shaft Fourhave headed out into the Baldric. Baker dropped his cigarette and ground his heel on it savagely. Shaft Four, eh? he repeated. That's our principal mine. If the feverspreads there, I'm licked. He motioned us into his office and strode across to a desk. SilentXartal, the Martian illustrator, took a chair in a corner and got hisnotebook out, sketching the room's interior. Grannie Annie remainedstanding. Presently the old lady walked across to the desk and helped herself tothe bottle of Martian whiskey there. There must be ways of stopping this, she said. Have you called inany physicians? Why don't you call an enforced vacation and send themen away until the plague has died down? Baker shook his head. Three doctors from Callisto were here lastmonth. They were as much at loss as I am. As for sending the men away,I may have to do that, but when I do, it means quits. Our company ischartered with Spacolonial, and you know what that means. Failureto produce during a period of thirty days or more, and you lose allrights. A visiphone bell sounded, and Baker walked across to the instrument. Aman's face formed in the vision plate. Baker listened, said Okay andthrew off the switch. The entire crew of Shaft Four have gone out into the Baldric, he saidslowly. There was a large map hanging on the wall back of Baker's desk.Grannie Annie walked across to it and began to study its markings. Shaft Four is at the outer edge of the Baldric at a point where thatcorridor is at its widest, she said. Baker looked up. That's right. We only began operations there acomparatively short time ago. Struck a rich vein of Acoustix thatruns deep in. If that vein holds out, we'll double the output of Interstellar Voice , our rival, in a year. Grannie nodded. I think you and I and Xartal had better take a run upthere, she said. But first I want to see your laboratory. There was no refusing her. Jimmy Baker led the way down to a lowerlevel where a huge laboratory and experimental shop ran the lengthof the building. Grannie seized a light weight carry-case and begandropping articles into it. A pontocated glass lens, three or fourWellington radite bulbs, each with a spectroscopic filament, a smalldynamo that would operate on a kite windlass, and a quantity of wireand other items. The kite car was brought out again, and the old woman, Baker and theMartian took their places in it. Then Jimmy waved, and the car began toroll down the ramp. <doc-sep>Not until they had vanished in the desert haze did I sense theloneliness of this outpost. With that loneliness came a sudden sense offoreboding. Had I been a fool to let Grannie go? I thought of her, anold woman who should be in a rocking chair, knitting socks. If anythinghappened to Annabella C. Flowers, I would never forgive myself andneither would her millions of readers. Ezra Karn and I went back into the office. The old prospector chuckled. Dang human dynamo. Got more energy than a runaway comet. A connecting door on the far side of the office opened onto a longcorridor which ended at a staircase. Let's look around, I said. We passed down the corridor and climbed the staircase to the secondfloor. Here were the general offices of Larynx Incorporated , andthrough glass doors I could see clerks busy with counting machines andreport tapes. In another chamber the extremely light Acoustix ore wasbeing packed into big cases and marked for shipment. At the far end adoor to a small room stood open. Inside a young man was tilted back ina swivel chair before a complicated instrument panel. C'mon in, he said, seeing us. If you want a look at your friends,here they are. He flicked a stud, and the entire wall above the panel underwent aslow change of colors. Those colors whirled kaleidescopically, thencoalesced into a three-dimensional scene. It was a scene of a rapidly unfolding desert country as seen from therear of a kite car. Directly behind the windscreen, backs turned to me,were Jimmy Baker, Grannie, and Xartal. It was as if I were standingdirectly behind them. It's Mr. Baker's own invention, the operator said. An improvement onthe visiphone. Do you mean to say you can follow the movements of that car and itspassengers wherever it goes? Can you hear them talk too? Sure. The operator turned another dial, and Grannie's falsetto voiceentered the room. It stopped abruptly. The machine uses a lot ofpower, the operator said, and as yet we haven't got much. The cloud of anxiety which had wrapped itself about me disappearedsomewhat as I viewed this device. At least I could now keep myselfposted of Grannie's movements. Karn and I went down to the commissary where we ate our supper. Whenwe returned to Jimmy Baker's office, the visiphone bell was ringing.I went over to it and turned it on, and to my surprise the face ofAntlers Park flashed on the screen. Hello, he said in his friendly way. I see you arrived all right. IsMiss Flowers there? Miss Flowers left with Mr. Baker for Shaft Four, I said. There'strouble up there. Red spot fever. Fever, eh? repeated Park. That's a shame. Is there anything I cando? Tell me, I said, has your company had any trouble with this plague? A little. But up until yesterday the fever's been confined to theother side of the Baldric. We had one partial case, but my chemistsgave the chap an antitoxin that seems to have worked. Come to think ofit, I might drive over to Shaft Four and give Jimmy Baker the formula.I haven't been out in the Baldric for years, but if you didn't have anytrouble, I shouldn't either. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he rang off. In exactlyan hour I went upstairs to the visiscreen room. Then once more I was directly behind my friends, listening in on theirconversation. The view through the windscreen showed an irregular arrayof flagpole trees, with the sky dotted by high-flying cockatoos. There's an eyrie over there, Jimmy Baker was saying. We might aswell camp beside it. <doc-sep>Moments later a rude circle of flagpole trees loomed ahead. Across thetop of them was stretched a translucent web. Jimmy and Grannie got outof the car and began making camp. Xartal remained in his seat. He wasdrawing pictures on large pieces of pasteboard, and as I stood there inthe visiscreen room, I watched him. There was no doubt about it, the Martian was clever. He would makea few rapid lines on one of the pasteboards, rub it a little to getthe proper shading and then go on to the next. In swift rotationlikenesses of Ezra Karn, of myself, of Jimmy Baker, and of Antlers Parktook form. Ezra spoke over my shoulder. He's doing scenes for Grannie's newbook, he said. The old lady figures on using the events here for aplot. Look at that damned nosy bird! A silver cockatoo had alighted on the kite car and was surveyingcuriously Xartal's work. As each drawing was completed, the birdscanned it with rapt attention. Abruptly it flew to the top of theeyrie, where it seemed to be having a consultation with its birdcompanions. And then abruptly it happened. The cockatoos took off in mass flight. Agroup of Earth people suddenly materialized on the eyrie, talking andmoving about as if it were the most natural thing in the world. With a shock I saw the likeness of myself; I saw Ezra Karn; and I sawthe image of Jimmy Baker. The real Jimmy Baker stood next to Grannie, staring up at thisincredible mirage. Grannie let out a whoop. I've got it! she said.Those things we see up there are nothing more than mental images.They're Xartal's drawings! <doc-sep>Don't you see, the lady continued. Everything that Xartal put onpaper has been seen by one or more of these cockatoos. The cockatoosare like Earth parrots all right, but not only have they the powerof copying speech, they also have the ability to recreate a mentalimage of what they have seen. In other words their brains form apowerful photographic impression of the object. That impression isthen transmitted simultaneously in telepathic wavelengths to commonfoci. That eyrie might be likened to a cinema screen, receiving brainvibrations from a hundred different sources that blend into the lightfield to form what are apparently three-dimensional images. The Larynx manager nodded slowly. I see, he said. But why don't thebirds reconstruct images from the actual person. Why use drawings? Probably because the drawings are exaggerated in certain details andmade a greater impression on their brains, Grannie replied. Up on the eyrie a strange performance was taking place. The duplicateof Grannie Annie was bowing to the duplicate of Jimmy Baker, and theimage of Ezra Karn was playing leap frog with the image of Antlers Park. Then abruptly the screen before me blurred and went blank. Sorry, the operator said. I've used too much power already. Have togive the generators a chance to build it up again. Nodding, I turned and motioned to Karn. We went back downstairs. That explains something at any rate, the old prospector said. Buthow about that Red spot fever? On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I openedit and found it contained the case histories of those men who had beenattacked by the strange malady. Reading them over, I was struck by one detail. Each patient hadreceived the first symptoms, not while working in the mines, but whilesleeping or lounging in the barracks. Five minutes later Karn and I were striding down a white ramp thatled to the nearest barracks. The building came into sight, a lowrectangular structure, dome-roofed to withstand the violent winds. Inside double tiers of bunks stretched along either wall. In thosebunks some thirty men lay sleeping. The far wall was taken up by a huge window of denvo-quartz. As I stoodthere, something suddenly caught Ezra Karn's eye. He began to walktoward that window. Look here, he said. Six feet up on that window a small almost imperceptible button of dullmetal had been wedged into an aperture cut in the quartz. The centralpart of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and asI seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work. All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-redrays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens toconcentrate and amplify the power of those rays. The internal clockworkserved a double purpose. It opened a shutter, and it rotated the lensslowly so that it played for a time on each of the sleeping men. I slid the metal button in my pocket and left the barracks at a run.Back in the visiscreen room, I snapped to the operator: Turn it on! The kite car swam into view in the screen above the instrument panel.I stared with open eyes. Jimmy Baker no longer was in the car, norwas Xartal, the Martian. Grannie Annie was there, but seated at thecontrols was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice. <doc-sep>Ezra Karn jabbed my elbow. Grannie's coming back. I thought she'd begetting sick of this blamed moon. It didn't make sense. In all the years I'd known Annabella C. Flowers,never yet had I seen her desert a case until she had woven the cluesand facts to a logical conclusion. Ezra, I said, we're going to drive out and meet them. There'ssomething screwy here. Ten minutes later in another kite car we were driving at a fast clipthrough the powdery sands of the Baldric. And before long we sawanother car approaching. It was Grannie. As the car drew up alongside I saw her sitting in herprim way next to Antlers Park. Park said: We left the others at the mine. Miss Flowers is going back with me tomy offices to help me improve the formula for that new antitoxin. He waved his hand, and the car moved off. I watched it as it spedacross the desert, and a growing suspicion began to form in my mind.Then, like a knife thrust, the truth struck me. Ezra! I yelled, swinging the car. That wasn't Grannie! That was oneof those damned cockatoo images. We've got to catch him. The other car was some distance ahead now. Park looked back and saw usfollowing. He did something to the kite wire, and his car leaped ahead. I threw the speed indicator hard over. Our kite was a huge box affairwith a steady powerful pull to the connecting wire. Park's vehiclewas drawn by a flat triangular kite that dove and fluttered with eachvariance of the wind. Steadily we began to close in. The manager of Interstellar Voice turned again, and something glintedin his hand. There was a flash of purple flame, and a round holeappeared in our windscreen inches above Karn's head. Heat gun! Ezra yelled. Now we were rocketing over the sand dunes, winding in and out betweenthe flagpole trees. I had to catch that car I told myself. GrannieAnnie's very life might be at stake, not to mention the lives ofhundreds of mine workers. Again Park took aim and again a holeshattered our windscreen. The wind shifted and blew from another quarter. The box kite soared,but the triangular kite faltered. Taking advantage of Park's loss ofspeed, I raced alongside. The I. V. manager lifted his weapon frantically. But before he coulduse it a third time, Ezra Karn had whipped a lariat from his belt andsent it coiling across the intervening space. The thong yanked tight about the manager's throat. Park did the onlything he could do. He shut off power, and the two cars coasted to ahalt. Then I was across in the other seat, wrenching the weapon freefrom his grasp. What have you done with Miss Flowers? I demanded. The manager's eyes glittered with fear as he saw my finger tense on thetrigger. Weakly he lifted an arm and pointed to the northwest. Val-ley. Thir-ty miles. Entrance hidden by wall of ... flagpole trees. <doc-sep>I leaped into the driver's seat and gave the kite its head. And now thecountry began to undergo a subtle change. The trees seemed to groupthemselves in a long flanking corridor in a northwesterly direction, asif to hide some secret that lay beyond. Twice I attempted to penetratethat wall, only to find my way blocked by those curious growths. Then a corridor opened before me; a mile forward and the desert beganagain. But it was a new desert this time: the sand packed hard asgranite, the way ahead utterly devoid of vegetation. In the distanceblack bulging hills extended to right and left, with a narrow chasm ordoorway between. I headed for that entrance, and when I reached it, I shut off powerwith an exclamation of astonishment. There was a huge chair-shaped rock there, and seated upon it wasGrannie Annie. She had a tablet in her hands, and she was writing. Grannie! I yelled. What're you doing here? Where's Mr. Baker? She rose to her feet and clambered down the rock. Getting back Jimmy's mine laborers, she said, a twinkle in her eyes.I see you've got Antlers Park. I'm glad of that. It saves me a lot oftrouble. She took off her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve.Don't look so fuddled, Billy-boy. Come along, and I'll show you. She led the way through the narrow passage into the valley. A deepgorge, it was, with the black sheer cliffs on either side pressingclose. Ten feet forward, I stopped short, staring in amazement. Advancing toward me like a column of infantry came a long line ofLarynx miners. They walked slowly, looking straight ahead, moving downthe center of the gorge toward the entrance. But there was more! A kite car was drawn up to the side. The windscreenhad been removed, and mounted on the hood was a large bullet-likecontrivance that looked not unlike a search lamp. A blinding shaft ofbluish radiance spewed from its open end. Playing it back and forthupon the marching men were Jimmy Baker and Xartal, the Martian. Ultra violet, Grannie Annie explained. The opposite end of thevibratory scale and the only thing that will combat the infra-red raysthat cause red spot fever. Those men won't stop walking until they'vereached Shaft Four. Grannie Annie told her story during the long ride back to Shaft Four.We drove slowly, keeping the line of marching Larynx miners alwaysahead of us. Jimmy Baker had struck a new big lode of Acoustix, a lode which ifworked successfully would see Larynx Incorporated become a far morepowerful exporting concern than Interstellar Voice . Antlers Parkdidn't want that. It was he or his agents who placed those lens buttons in the Larynxbarracks. For he knew that just as Jupiter's great spot wasresponsible for a climate and atmosphere suitable for an Earthman onthis Eighth Moon, so also was that spot a deadly power in itself,capable when its rays were concentrated of causing a fatal sickness. Then suddenly becoming fearful of Grannie's prying, Antlers Park stroveto head her off before she reached Shaft Four. He did head her off and managed to lure her and Baker and Xartal intothe Shaft barracks where they would be exposed to the rays from thelens button. But Grannie only pretended to contract the plague. Park then attempted to outwit Ezra Karn and me by returning in JimmyBaker's kite car with a cockatoo image of Grannie. <doc-sep>I listened to all this in silence. But, I said when she had finished,how did Park manage to have that image created and why did the minelaborers walk out into the Baldric when they contracted the fever? Grannie Annie frowned. I'm not sure I can answer the first of thosequestions, she replied. You must remember Antlers Park has been onthis moon five years and during that time he must have acquaintedhimself with many of its secrets. Probably he learned long ago justwhat to do to make a cockatoo create a mental image. As for the men going out into the Baldric, that was more of Park'sdiabolical work. In the walls of the barracks besides those lensbuttons were also miniature electro-hypnotic plates, with the mastercontrolling unit located in that valley. Park knew that when the minerswere in a drugged condition from the effects of the fever they wouldbe susceptible to the machine's lure.... And now, Billy-boy, are youcoming with me? Coming with you? I repeated. Where? The old lady lit a cigarette. Pluto maybe, she said. There's a penalcolony there, you know, and that ought to tie in nicely with a newcrime story. I can see it now ... prison break, stolen rocket ship,fugitives lurking in the interplanetary lanes.... Grannie, I laughed. You're incorrigible! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What settings does the story take place in?

In the buildings of Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated, two Acoustix ore mining companies on Jupiter’s eighth moon.The Baldric - the largely deserted space between the mining grounds of Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated. It is a desert-like place with trees that are trunks with melon-shaped tops, and silver birds that can repeat English phrases as well as mimic human forms that appear like mirages. There is also a deep valley gorge within the desert and many eyries which seem similar to oases.There are several scenes aboard kite-propelled cars in the Baldric, as well as visiphone-like video feed of Jimmy’s car that is viewed from the offices of Larynx Incorporated.Shaft Four is one of the locations that Larynx Incorporated mines in on the border of the Baldric, which is talked about often, but is never actually visited by the main characters during the story.

What was the relationship like between Jimmy and Grannie? [SEP] <s> DOUBLE TROUBLE by CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, that waspish science-fiction writer, was in a jam again. What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, I was running in circles—especially since Grannie became twins every now and then. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] We had left the offices of Interstellar Voice three days ago, Earthtime, and now as the immense disc of Jupiter flamed across the sky,entered the outer limits of the Baldric. Grannie Annie strode in thelead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place inthis desert as the trees. Flagpole trees. They rose straight up like enormous cat-tails, withonly a melon-shaped protuberance at the top to show they were a form ofvegetation. Everything else was blanketed by the sand and the powerfulwind that blew from all quarters. As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. This is the Baldric all right. If my calculations are right, we've hitit at its narrowest spot. Ezra Karn took a greasy pipe from his lips and spat. It looks like therest of this God-forsaken moon, he said, 'ceptin for them sticks. Xartal, the Martian illustrator, said nothing. He was like that,taciturn, speaking only when spoken to. He could be excused this time, however, for this was only our third dayon Jupiter's Eighth Moon, and the country was still strange to us. <doc-sep>When Annabella C. Flowers, that renowned writer of science fiction,visiphoned me at Crater City, Mars, to meet her here, I had thought shewas crazy. But Miss Flowers, known to her friends as Grannie Annie,had always been mildly crazy. If you haven't read her books, you'vemissed something. She's the author of Lady of the Green Flames , Lady of the Runaway Planet , Lady of the Crimson Space-Beast , andother works of science fiction. Blood-and-thunder as these books are,however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background.Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when shelaid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only atransportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her fromvisiting her stage in person. Therefore when she asked me to meet her at the landing field of Interstellar Voice on Jupiter's Eighth Moon, I knew she had anothernovel in the state of embryo. What I didn't expect was Ezra Karn. He was an old prospector Granniehad met, and he had become so attached to the authoress he now followedher wherever she went. As for Xartal, he was a Martian and was slatedto do the illustrations for Grannie's new book. Five minutes after my ship had blasted down, the four of us met in theoffices of Interstellar Voice . And then I was shaking hands withAntlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. Glad to meet you, he said cordially. I've just been trying topersuade Miss Flowers not to attempt a trip into the Baldric. What's the Baldric? I had asked. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. Will you believe me, sir, he said, when I tell you I've been outhere on this forsaken moon five years and don't rightly know myself? I scowled at that; it didn't make sense. However, as you perhaps know, the only reason for colonial activitieshere at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix.It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'mnot up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the redplanet has developed with a supersonic method of vocal communication.The Martian speaks as the Earthman does, but he amplifies his thoughts'transmission by way of wave lengths as high as three million vibrationsper second. The trouble is that by the time the average Martian reachesmiddle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases.Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their soundingapparatus, and the rush was on. What do you mean? Park leaned back. The rush to find more of the ore, he explained.But up until now this moon is the only place where it can be found. There are two companies here, he continued, Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated . Chap by the name of Jimmy Baker runs that.However, the point is, between the properties of these two companiesstretches a band or belt which has become known as the Baldric. There are two principal forms of life in the Baldric; flagpole treesand a species of ornithoid resembling cockatoos. So far no one hascrossed the Baldric without trouble. What sort of trouble? Grannie Annie had demanded. And when AntlersPark stuttered evasively, the old lady snorted, Fiddlesticks, I neversaw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. We leave in an hour. <doc-sep>So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelerson foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment andsupplies. I walked forward to get a closer view of one of the flagpole trees. Andthen abruptly I saw something else. A queer-looking bird squatted there in the sand, looking up at me.Silver in plumage, it resembled a parrot with a crest; and yet itdidn't. In some strange way the thing was a hideous caricature. Look what I found, I yelled. What I found, said the cockatoo in a very human voice. Thunder, it talks, I said amazed. Talks, repeated the bird, blinking its eyes. The cockatoo repeated my last statement again, then rose on its shortlegs, flapped its wings once and soared off into the sky. Xartal,the Martian illustrator, already had a notebook in his hands and wassketching a likeness of the creature. Ten minutes later we were on the move again. We saw more silvercockatoos and more flagpole trees. Above us, the great disc of Jupiterbegan to descend toward the horizon. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of ahigh ridge. She shielded her eyes and stared off into the plain we hadjust crossed. Billy-boy, she said to me in a strange voice, look down there andtell me what you see. I followed the direction of her hand and a shock went through me fromhead to foot. Down there, slowly toiling across the sand, advanced aparty of four persons. In the lead was a little old lady in a blackdress. Behind her strode a grizzled Earth man in a flop-brimmed hat,another Earth man, and a Martian. Detail for detail they were a duplicate of ourselves! A mirage! said Ezra Karn. But it wasn't a mirage. As the party came closer, we could see thattheir lips were moving, and their voices became audible. I listened inawe. The duplicate of myself was talking to the duplicate of GrannieAnnie, and she was replying in the most natural way. Steadily the four travelers approached. Then, when a dozen yards away,they suddenly faded like a negative exposed to light and disappeared. What do you make of it? I said in a hushed voice. Grannie shook her head. Might be a form of mass hypnosis superinducedby some chemical radiations, she replied. Whatever it is, we'd betterwatch our step. There's no telling what might lie ahead. We walked after that with taut nerves and watchful eyes, but we saw norepetition of the mirage. The wind continued to blow ceaselessly, andthe sand seemed to grow more and more powdery. For some time I had fixed my gaze on a dot in the sky which I supposedto be a high-flying cockatoo. As that dot continued to move across theheavens in a single direction, I called Grannie's attention to it. It's a kite, she nodded. There should be a car attached to itsomewhere. She offered no further explanation, but a quarter of an hour later aswe topped another rise a curious elliptical car with a long slantingwindscreen came into view. Attached to its hood was a taut wire whichslanted up into the sky to connect with the kite. A man was driving and when he saw us, he waved. Five minutes laterGrannie was shaking his hand vigorously and mumbling introductions. This is Jimmy Baker, she said. He manages Larynx Incorporated , andhe's the real reason we're here. I decided I liked Baker the moment I saw him. In his middle thirties,he was tall and lean, with pleasant blue eyes which even his sandgoggles could not conceal. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here, Grannie, he said. Ifanybody can help me, you can. Grannie's eyes glittered. Trouble with the mine laborers? shequestioned. <doc-sep>Jimmy Baker nodded. He told his story over the roar of the wind as weheaded back across the desert. Occasionally he touched a stud on anelectric windlass to which the kite wire was attached. Apparently theseadjustments moved planes or fins on the kite and accounted for thecar's ability to move in any direction. If I weren't a realist, I'd say that Larynx Incorporated has beenbewitched, he began slowly. We pay our men high wages and give themexcellent living conditions with a vacation on Callisto every year.Up until a short time ago most of them were in excellent health andspirits. Then the Red Spot Fever got them. Red Spot Fever? Grannie looked at him curiously. Jimmy Baker nodded. The first symptoms are a tendency to garrulousnesson the part of the patient. Then they disappear. He paused to make an adjustment of the windlass. They walk out into the Baldric, he continued, and nothing can stopthem. We tried following them, of course, but it was no go. As soon asthey realize they're being followed, they stop. But the moment our eyesare turned, they give us the slip. But surely you must have some idea of where they go, Grannie said. Baker lit a cigarette. There's all kinds of rumors, he replied, butnone of them will hold water. By the way, there's a cockatoo eyrieahead of us. I followed his gaze and saw a curious structure suspended betweena rude circle of flagpole trees. A strange web-like formation oftranslucent gauzy material, it was. Fully two hundred cockatoos wereperched upon it. They watched us with their mild eyes as we passed, butthey didn't move. After that we were rolling up the driveway that led to the offices of Larynx Incorporated . As Jimmy Baker led the way up the inclined ramp,a door in the central building opened, and a man emerged. His face wasdrawn. Mr. Baker, he said breathlessly, seventy-five workers at Shaft Fourhave headed out into the Baldric. Baker dropped his cigarette and ground his heel on it savagely. Shaft Four, eh? he repeated. That's our principal mine. If the feverspreads there, I'm licked. He motioned us into his office and strode across to a desk. SilentXartal, the Martian illustrator, took a chair in a corner and got hisnotebook out, sketching the room's interior. Grannie Annie remainedstanding. Presently the old lady walked across to the desk and helped herself tothe bottle of Martian whiskey there. There must be ways of stopping this, she said. Have you called inany physicians? Why don't you call an enforced vacation and send themen away until the plague has died down? Baker shook his head. Three doctors from Callisto were here lastmonth. They were as much at loss as I am. As for sending the men away,I may have to do that, but when I do, it means quits. Our company ischartered with Spacolonial, and you know what that means. Failureto produce during a period of thirty days or more, and you lose allrights. A visiphone bell sounded, and Baker walked across to the instrument. Aman's face formed in the vision plate. Baker listened, said Okay andthrew off the switch. The entire crew of Shaft Four have gone out into the Baldric, he saidslowly. There was a large map hanging on the wall back of Baker's desk.Grannie Annie walked across to it and began to study its markings. Shaft Four is at the outer edge of the Baldric at a point where thatcorridor is at its widest, she said. Baker looked up. That's right. We only began operations there acomparatively short time ago. Struck a rich vein of Acoustix thatruns deep in. If that vein holds out, we'll double the output of Interstellar Voice , our rival, in a year. Grannie nodded. I think you and I and Xartal had better take a run upthere, she said. But first I want to see your laboratory. There was no refusing her. Jimmy Baker led the way down to a lowerlevel where a huge laboratory and experimental shop ran the lengthof the building. Grannie seized a light weight carry-case and begandropping articles into it. A pontocated glass lens, three or fourWellington radite bulbs, each with a spectroscopic filament, a smalldynamo that would operate on a kite windlass, and a quantity of wireand other items. The kite car was brought out again, and the old woman, Baker and theMartian took their places in it. Then Jimmy waved, and the car began toroll down the ramp. <doc-sep>Not until they had vanished in the desert haze did I sense theloneliness of this outpost. With that loneliness came a sudden sense offoreboding. Had I been a fool to let Grannie go? I thought of her, anold woman who should be in a rocking chair, knitting socks. If anythinghappened to Annabella C. Flowers, I would never forgive myself andneither would her millions of readers. Ezra Karn and I went back into the office. The old prospector chuckled. Dang human dynamo. Got more energy than a runaway comet. A connecting door on the far side of the office opened onto a longcorridor which ended at a staircase. Let's look around, I said. We passed down the corridor and climbed the staircase to the secondfloor. Here were the general offices of Larynx Incorporated , andthrough glass doors I could see clerks busy with counting machines andreport tapes. In another chamber the extremely light Acoustix ore wasbeing packed into big cases and marked for shipment. At the far end adoor to a small room stood open. Inside a young man was tilted back ina swivel chair before a complicated instrument panel. C'mon in, he said, seeing us. If you want a look at your friends,here they are. He flicked a stud, and the entire wall above the panel underwent aslow change of colors. Those colors whirled kaleidescopically, thencoalesced into a three-dimensional scene. It was a scene of a rapidly unfolding desert country as seen from therear of a kite car. Directly behind the windscreen, backs turned to me,were Jimmy Baker, Grannie, and Xartal. It was as if I were standingdirectly behind them. It's Mr. Baker's own invention, the operator said. An improvement onthe visiphone. Do you mean to say you can follow the movements of that car and itspassengers wherever it goes? Can you hear them talk too? Sure. The operator turned another dial, and Grannie's falsetto voiceentered the room. It stopped abruptly. The machine uses a lot ofpower, the operator said, and as yet we haven't got much. The cloud of anxiety which had wrapped itself about me disappearedsomewhat as I viewed this device. At least I could now keep myselfposted of Grannie's movements. Karn and I went down to the commissary where we ate our supper. Whenwe returned to Jimmy Baker's office, the visiphone bell was ringing.I went over to it and turned it on, and to my surprise the face ofAntlers Park flashed on the screen. Hello, he said in his friendly way. I see you arrived all right. IsMiss Flowers there? Miss Flowers left with Mr. Baker for Shaft Four, I said. There'strouble up there. Red spot fever. Fever, eh? repeated Park. That's a shame. Is there anything I cando? Tell me, I said, has your company had any trouble with this plague? A little. But up until yesterday the fever's been confined to theother side of the Baldric. We had one partial case, but my chemistsgave the chap an antitoxin that seems to have worked. Come to think ofit, I might drive over to Shaft Four and give Jimmy Baker the formula.I haven't been out in the Baldric for years, but if you didn't have anytrouble, I shouldn't either. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he rang off. In exactlyan hour I went upstairs to the visiscreen room. Then once more I was directly behind my friends, listening in on theirconversation. The view through the windscreen showed an irregular arrayof flagpole trees, with the sky dotted by high-flying cockatoos. There's an eyrie over there, Jimmy Baker was saying. We might aswell camp beside it. <doc-sep>Moments later a rude circle of flagpole trees loomed ahead. Across thetop of them was stretched a translucent web. Jimmy and Grannie got outof the car and began making camp. Xartal remained in his seat. He wasdrawing pictures on large pieces of pasteboard, and as I stood there inthe visiscreen room, I watched him. There was no doubt about it, the Martian was clever. He would makea few rapid lines on one of the pasteboards, rub it a little to getthe proper shading and then go on to the next. In swift rotationlikenesses of Ezra Karn, of myself, of Jimmy Baker, and of Antlers Parktook form. Ezra spoke over my shoulder. He's doing scenes for Grannie's newbook, he said. The old lady figures on using the events here for aplot. Look at that damned nosy bird! A silver cockatoo had alighted on the kite car and was surveyingcuriously Xartal's work. As each drawing was completed, the birdscanned it with rapt attention. Abruptly it flew to the top of theeyrie, where it seemed to be having a consultation with its birdcompanions. And then abruptly it happened. The cockatoos took off in mass flight. Agroup of Earth people suddenly materialized on the eyrie, talking andmoving about as if it were the most natural thing in the world. With a shock I saw the likeness of myself; I saw Ezra Karn; and I sawthe image of Jimmy Baker. The real Jimmy Baker stood next to Grannie, staring up at thisincredible mirage. Grannie let out a whoop. I've got it! she said.Those things we see up there are nothing more than mental images.They're Xartal's drawings! <doc-sep>Don't you see, the lady continued. Everything that Xartal put onpaper has been seen by one or more of these cockatoos. The cockatoosare like Earth parrots all right, but not only have they the powerof copying speech, they also have the ability to recreate a mentalimage of what they have seen. In other words their brains form apowerful photographic impression of the object. That impression isthen transmitted simultaneously in telepathic wavelengths to commonfoci. That eyrie might be likened to a cinema screen, receiving brainvibrations from a hundred different sources that blend into the lightfield to form what are apparently three-dimensional images. The Larynx manager nodded slowly. I see, he said. But why don't thebirds reconstruct images from the actual person. Why use drawings? Probably because the drawings are exaggerated in certain details andmade a greater impression on their brains, Grannie replied. Up on the eyrie a strange performance was taking place. The duplicateof Grannie Annie was bowing to the duplicate of Jimmy Baker, and theimage of Ezra Karn was playing leap frog with the image of Antlers Park. Then abruptly the screen before me blurred and went blank. Sorry, the operator said. I've used too much power already. Have togive the generators a chance to build it up again. Nodding, I turned and motioned to Karn. We went back downstairs. That explains something at any rate, the old prospector said. Buthow about that Red spot fever? On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I openedit and found it contained the case histories of those men who had beenattacked by the strange malady. Reading them over, I was struck by one detail. Each patient hadreceived the first symptoms, not while working in the mines, but whilesleeping or lounging in the barracks. Five minutes later Karn and I were striding down a white ramp thatled to the nearest barracks. The building came into sight, a lowrectangular structure, dome-roofed to withstand the violent winds. Inside double tiers of bunks stretched along either wall. In thosebunks some thirty men lay sleeping. The far wall was taken up by a huge window of denvo-quartz. As I stoodthere, something suddenly caught Ezra Karn's eye. He began to walktoward that window. Look here, he said. Six feet up on that window a small almost imperceptible button of dullmetal had been wedged into an aperture cut in the quartz. The centralpart of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and asI seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work. All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-redrays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens toconcentrate and amplify the power of those rays. The internal clockworkserved a double purpose. It opened a shutter, and it rotated the lensslowly so that it played for a time on each of the sleeping men. I slid the metal button in my pocket and left the barracks at a run.Back in the visiscreen room, I snapped to the operator: Turn it on! The kite car swam into view in the screen above the instrument panel.I stared with open eyes. Jimmy Baker no longer was in the car, norwas Xartal, the Martian. Grannie Annie was there, but seated at thecontrols was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice. <doc-sep>Ezra Karn jabbed my elbow. Grannie's coming back. I thought she'd begetting sick of this blamed moon. It didn't make sense. In all the years I'd known Annabella C. Flowers,never yet had I seen her desert a case until she had woven the cluesand facts to a logical conclusion. Ezra, I said, we're going to drive out and meet them. There'ssomething screwy here. Ten minutes later in another kite car we were driving at a fast clipthrough the powdery sands of the Baldric. And before long we sawanother car approaching. It was Grannie. As the car drew up alongside I saw her sitting in herprim way next to Antlers Park. Park said: We left the others at the mine. Miss Flowers is going back with me tomy offices to help me improve the formula for that new antitoxin. He waved his hand, and the car moved off. I watched it as it spedacross the desert, and a growing suspicion began to form in my mind.Then, like a knife thrust, the truth struck me. Ezra! I yelled, swinging the car. That wasn't Grannie! That was oneof those damned cockatoo images. We've got to catch him. The other car was some distance ahead now. Park looked back and saw usfollowing. He did something to the kite wire, and his car leaped ahead. I threw the speed indicator hard over. Our kite was a huge box affairwith a steady powerful pull to the connecting wire. Park's vehiclewas drawn by a flat triangular kite that dove and fluttered with eachvariance of the wind. Steadily we began to close in. The manager of Interstellar Voice turned again, and something glintedin his hand. There was a flash of purple flame, and a round holeappeared in our windscreen inches above Karn's head. Heat gun! Ezra yelled. Now we were rocketing over the sand dunes, winding in and out betweenthe flagpole trees. I had to catch that car I told myself. GrannieAnnie's very life might be at stake, not to mention the lives ofhundreds of mine workers. Again Park took aim and again a holeshattered our windscreen. The wind shifted and blew from another quarter. The box kite soared,but the triangular kite faltered. Taking advantage of Park's loss ofspeed, I raced alongside. The I. V. manager lifted his weapon frantically. But before he coulduse it a third time, Ezra Karn had whipped a lariat from his belt andsent it coiling across the intervening space. The thong yanked tight about the manager's throat. Park did the onlything he could do. He shut off power, and the two cars coasted to ahalt. Then I was across in the other seat, wrenching the weapon freefrom his grasp. What have you done with Miss Flowers? I demanded. The manager's eyes glittered with fear as he saw my finger tense on thetrigger. Weakly he lifted an arm and pointed to the northwest. Val-ley. Thir-ty miles. Entrance hidden by wall of ... flagpole trees. <doc-sep>I leaped into the driver's seat and gave the kite its head. And now thecountry began to undergo a subtle change. The trees seemed to groupthemselves in a long flanking corridor in a northwesterly direction, asif to hide some secret that lay beyond. Twice I attempted to penetratethat wall, only to find my way blocked by those curious growths. Then a corridor opened before me; a mile forward and the desert beganagain. But it was a new desert this time: the sand packed hard asgranite, the way ahead utterly devoid of vegetation. In the distanceblack bulging hills extended to right and left, with a narrow chasm ordoorway between. I headed for that entrance, and when I reached it, I shut off powerwith an exclamation of astonishment. There was a huge chair-shaped rock there, and seated upon it wasGrannie Annie. She had a tablet in her hands, and she was writing. Grannie! I yelled. What're you doing here? Where's Mr. Baker? She rose to her feet and clambered down the rock. Getting back Jimmy's mine laborers, she said, a twinkle in her eyes.I see you've got Antlers Park. I'm glad of that. It saves me a lot oftrouble. She took off her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve.Don't look so fuddled, Billy-boy. Come along, and I'll show you. She led the way through the narrow passage into the valley. A deepgorge, it was, with the black sheer cliffs on either side pressingclose. Ten feet forward, I stopped short, staring in amazement. Advancing toward me like a column of infantry came a long line ofLarynx miners. They walked slowly, looking straight ahead, moving downthe center of the gorge toward the entrance. But there was more! A kite car was drawn up to the side. The windscreenhad been removed, and mounted on the hood was a large bullet-likecontrivance that looked not unlike a search lamp. A blinding shaft ofbluish radiance spewed from its open end. Playing it back and forthupon the marching men were Jimmy Baker and Xartal, the Martian. Ultra violet, Grannie Annie explained. The opposite end of thevibratory scale and the only thing that will combat the infra-red raysthat cause red spot fever. Those men won't stop walking until they'vereached Shaft Four. Grannie Annie told her story during the long ride back to Shaft Four.We drove slowly, keeping the line of marching Larynx miners alwaysahead of us. Jimmy Baker had struck a new big lode of Acoustix, a lode which ifworked successfully would see Larynx Incorporated become a far morepowerful exporting concern than Interstellar Voice . Antlers Parkdidn't want that. It was he or his agents who placed those lens buttons in the Larynxbarracks. For he knew that just as Jupiter's great spot wasresponsible for a climate and atmosphere suitable for an Earthman onthis Eighth Moon, so also was that spot a deadly power in itself,capable when its rays were concentrated of causing a fatal sickness. Then suddenly becoming fearful of Grannie's prying, Antlers Park stroveto head her off before she reached Shaft Four. He did head her off and managed to lure her and Baker and Xartal intothe Shaft barracks where they would be exposed to the rays from thelens button. But Grannie only pretended to contract the plague. Park then attempted to outwit Ezra Karn and me by returning in JimmyBaker's kite car with a cockatoo image of Grannie. <doc-sep>I listened to all this in silence. But, I said when she had finished,how did Park manage to have that image created and why did the minelaborers walk out into the Baldric when they contracted the fever? Grannie Annie frowned. I'm not sure I can answer the first of thosequestions, she replied. You must remember Antlers Park has been onthis moon five years and during that time he must have acquaintedhimself with many of its secrets. Probably he learned long ago justwhat to do to make a cockatoo create a mental image. As for the men going out into the Baldric, that was more of Park'sdiabolical work. In the walls of the barracks besides those lensbuttons were also miniature electro-hypnotic plates, with the mastercontrolling unit located in that valley. Park knew that when the minerswere in a drugged condition from the effects of the fever they wouldbe susceptible to the machine's lure.... And now, Billy-boy, are youcoming with me? Coming with you? I repeated. Where? The old lady lit a cigarette. Pluto maybe, she said. There's a penalcolony there, you know, and that ought to tie in nicely with a newcrime story. I can see it now ... prison break, stolen rocket ship,fugitives lurking in the interplanetary lanes.... Grannie, I laughed. You're incorrigible! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was the relationship like between Jimmy and Grannie?

Jimmy Baker is the manager of the Acoustix ore mining company called Larynx Incorporated on Jupiter’s eighth moon. Grannie Annie (AKA Annabella C. Flowers) is a famous science fiction writer, well known for her authentic background research for her novels. She is exploring the eighth moon of Jupiter for her newest novel.Jimmy has knowledge of Grannie’s work and is hoping she can help him solve the mystery of the Red Spot Fever with her excellent problem solving skills. Grannie does not appear to know Jimmy before their meeting in the Baldric. They have a cordial and collaborative relationship through the story that results in solving the mystery.

What is the importance of Acoustix in the story? [SEP] <s> DOUBLE TROUBLE by CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, that waspish science-fiction writer, was in a jam again. What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, I was running in circles—especially since Grannie became twins every now and then. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] We had left the offices of Interstellar Voice three days ago, Earthtime, and now as the immense disc of Jupiter flamed across the sky,entered the outer limits of the Baldric. Grannie Annie strode in thelead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place inthis desert as the trees. Flagpole trees. They rose straight up like enormous cat-tails, withonly a melon-shaped protuberance at the top to show they were a form ofvegetation. Everything else was blanketed by the sand and the powerfulwind that blew from all quarters. As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. This is the Baldric all right. If my calculations are right, we've hitit at its narrowest spot. Ezra Karn took a greasy pipe from his lips and spat. It looks like therest of this God-forsaken moon, he said, 'ceptin for them sticks. Xartal, the Martian illustrator, said nothing. He was like that,taciturn, speaking only when spoken to. He could be excused this time, however, for this was only our third dayon Jupiter's Eighth Moon, and the country was still strange to us. <doc-sep>When Annabella C. Flowers, that renowned writer of science fiction,visiphoned me at Crater City, Mars, to meet her here, I had thought shewas crazy. But Miss Flowers, known to her friends as Grannie Annie,had always been mildly crazy. If you haven't read her books, you'vemissed something. She's the author of Lady of the Green Flames , Lady of the Runaway Planet , Lady of the Crimson Space-Beast , andother works of science fiction. Blood-and-thunder as these books are,however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background.Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when shelaid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only atransportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her fromvisiting her stage in person. Therefore when she asked me to meet her at the landing field of Interstellar Voice on Jupiter's Eighth Moon, I knew she had anothernovel in the state of embryo. What I didn't expect was Ezra Karn. He was an old prospector Granniehad met, and he had become so attached to the authoress he now followedher wherever she went. As for Xartal, he was a Martian and was slatedto do the illustrations for Grannie's new book. Five minutes after my ship had blasted down, the four of us met in theoffices of Interstellar Voice . And then I was shaking hands withAntlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. Glad to meet you, he said cordially. I've just been trying topersuade Miss Flowers not to attempt a trip into the Baldric. What's the Baldric? I had asked. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. Will you believe me, sir, he said, when I tell you I've been outhere on this forsaken moon five years and don't rightly know myself? I scowled at that; it didn't make sense. However, as you perhaps know, the only reason for colonial activitieshere at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix.It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'mnot up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the redplanet has developed with a supersonic method of vocal communication.The Martian speaks as the Earthman does, but he amplifies his thoughts'transmission by way of wave lengths as high as three million vibrationsper second. The trouble is that by the time the average Martian reachesmiddle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases.Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their soundingapparatus, and the rush was on. What do you mean? Park leaned back. The rush to find more of the ore, he explained.But up until now this moon is the only place where it can be found. There are two companies here, he continued, Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated . Chap by the name of Jimmy Baker runs that.However, the point is, between the properties of these two companiesstretches a band or belt which has become known as the Baldric. There are two principal forms of life in the Baldric; flagpole treesand a species of ornithoid resembling cockatoos. So far no one hascrossed the Baldric without trouble. What sort of trouble? Grannie Annie had demanded. And when AntlersPark stuttered evasively, the old lady snorted, Fiddlesticks, I neversaw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. We leave in an hour. <doc-sep>So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelerson foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment andsupplies. I walked forward to get a closer view of one of the flagpole trees. Andthen abruptly I saw something else. A queer-looking bird squatted there in the sand, looking up at me.Silver in plumage, it resembled a parrot with a crest; and yet itdidn't. In some strange way the thing was a hideous caricature. Look what I found, I yelled. What I found, said the cockatoo in a very human voice. Thunder, it talks, I said amazed. Talks, repeated the bird, blinking its eyes. The cockatoo repeated my last statement again, then rose on its shortlegs, flapped its wings once and soared off into the sky. Xartal,the Martian illustrator, already had a notebook in his hands and wassketching a likeness of the creature. Ten minutes later we were on the move again. We saw more silvercockatoos and more flagpole trees. Above us, the great disc of Jupiterbegan to descend toward the horizon. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of ahigh ridge. She shielded her eyes and stared off into the plain we hadjust crossed. Billy-boy, she said to me in a strange voice, look down there andtell me what you see. I followed the direction of her hand and a shock went through me fromhead to foot. Down there, slowly toiling across the sand, advanced aparty of four persons. In the lead was a little old lady in a blackdress. Behind her strode a grizzled Earth man in a flop-brimmed hat,another Earth man, and a Martian. Detail for detail they were a duplicate of ourselves! A mirage! said Ezra Karn. But it wasn't a mirage. As the party came closer, we could see thattheir lips were moving, and their voices became audible. I listened inawe. The duplicate of myself was talking to the duplicate of GrannieAnnie, and she was replying in the most natural way. Steadily the four travelers approached. Then, when a dozen yards away,they suddenly faded like a negative exposed to light and disappeared. What do you make of it? I said in a hushed voice. Grannie shook her head. Might be a form of mass hypnosis superinducedby some chemical radiations, she replied. Whatever it is, we'd betterwatch our step. There's no telling what might lie ahead. We walked after that with taut nerves and watchful eyes, but we saw norepetition of the mirage. The wind continued to blow ceaselessly, andthe sand seemed to grow more and more powdery. For some time I had fixed my gaze on a dot in the sky which I supposedto be a high-flying cockatoo. As that dot continued to move across theheavens in a single direction, I called Grannie's attention to it. It's a kite, she nodded. There should be a car attached to itsomewhere. She offered no further explanation, but a quarter of an hour later aswe topped another rise a curious elliptical car with a long slantingwindscreen came into view. Attached to its hood was a taut wire whichslanted up into the sky to connect with the kite. A man was driving and when he saw us, he waved. Five minutes laterGrannie was shaking his hand vigorously and mumbling introductions. This is Jimmy Baker, she said. He manages Larynx Incorporated , andhe's the real reason we're here. I decided I liked Baker the moment I saw him. In his middle thirties,he was tall and lean, with pleasant blue eyes which even his sandgoggles could not conceal. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here, Grannie, he said. Ifanybody can help me, you can. Grannie's eyes glittered. Trouble with the mine laborers? shequestioned. <doc-sep>Jimmy Baker nodded. He told his story over the roar of the wind as weheaded back across the desert. Occasionally he touched a stud on anelectric windlass to which the kite wire was attached. Apparently theseadjustments moved planes or fins on the kite and accounted for thecar's ability to move in any direction. If I weren't a realist, I'd say that Larynx Incorporated has beenbewitched, he began slowly. We pay our men high wages and give themexcellent living conditions with a vacation on Callisto every year.Up until a short time ago most of them were in excellent health andspirits. Then the Red Spot Fever got them. Red Spot Fever? Grannie looked at him curiously. Jimmy Baker nodded. The first symptoms are a tendency to garrulousnesson the part of the patient. Then they disappear. He paused to make an adjustment of the windlass. They walk out into the Baldric, he continued, and nothing can stopthem. We tried following them, of course, but it was no go. As soon asthey realize they're being followed, they stop. But the moment our eyesare turned, they give us the slip. But surely you must have some idea of where they go, Grannie said. Baker lit a cigarette. There's all kinds of rumors, he replied, butnone of them will hold water. By the way, there's a cockatoo eyrieahead of us. I followed his gaze and saw a curious structure suspended betweena rude circle of flagpole trees. A strange web-like formation oftranslucent gauzy material, it was. Fully two hundred cockatoos wereperched upon it. They watched us with their mild eyes as we passed, butthey didn't move. After that we were rolling up the driveway that led to the offices of Larynx Incorporated . As Jimmy Baker led the way up the inclined ramp,a door in the central building opened, and a man emerged. His face wasdrawn. Mr. Baker, he said breathlessly, seventy-five workers at Shaft Fourhave headed out into the Baldric. Baker dropped his cigarette and ground his heel on it savagely. Shaft Four, eh? he repeated. That's our principal mine. If the feverspreads there, I'm licked. He motioned us into his office and strode across to a desk. SilentXartal, the Martian illustrator, took a chair in a corner and got hisnotebook out, sketching the room's interior. Grannie Annie remainedstanding. Presently the old lady walked across to the desk and helped herself tothe bottle of Martian whiskey there. There must be ways of stopping this, she said. Have you called inany physicians? Why don't you call an enforced vacation and send themen away until the plague has died down? Baker shook his head. Three doctors from Callisto were here lastmonth. They were as much at loss as I am. As for sending the men away,I may have to do that, but when I do, it means quits. Our company ischartered with Spacolonial, and you know what that means. Failureto produce during a period of thirty days or more, and you lose allrights. A visiphone bell sounded, and Baker walked across to the instrument. Aman's face formed in the vision plate. Baker listened, said Okay andthrew off the switch. The entire crew of Shaft Four have gone out into the Baldric, he saidslowly. There was a large map hanging on the wall back of Baker's desk.Grannie Annie walked across to it and began to study its markings. Shaft Four is at the outer edge of the Baldric at a point where thatcorridor is at its widest, she said. Baker looked up. That's right. We only began operations there acomparatively short time ago. Struck a rich vein of Acoustix thatruns deep in. If that vein holds out, we'll double the output of Interstellar Voice , our rival, in a year. Grannie nodded. I think you and I and Xartal had better take a run upthere, she said. But first I want to see your laboratory. There was no refusing her. Jimmy Baker led the way down to a lowerlevel where a huge laboratory and experimental shop ran the lengthof the building. Grannie seized a light weight carry-case and begandropping articles into it. A pontocated glass lens, three or fourWellington radite bulbs, each with a spectroscopic filament, a smalldynamo that would operate on a kite windlass, and a quantity of wireand other items. The kite car was brought out again, and the old woman, Baker and theMartian took their places in it. Then Jimmy waved, and the car began toroll down the ramp. <doc-sep>Not until they had vanished in the desert haze did I sense theloneliness of this outpost. With that loneliness came a sudden sense offoreboding. Had I been a fool to let Grannie go? I thought of her, anold woman who should be in a rocking chair, knitting socks. If anythinghappened to Annabella C. Flowers, I would never forgive myself andneither would her millions of readers. Ezra Karn and I went back into the office. The old prospector chuckled. Dang human dynamo. Got more energy than a runaway comet. A connecting door on the far side of the office opened onto a longcorridor which ended at a staircase. Let's look around, I said. We passed down the corridor and climbed the staircase to the secondfloor. Here were the general offices of Larynx Incorporated , andthrough glass doors I could see clerks busy with counting machines andreport tapes. In another chamber the extremely light Acoustix ore wasbeing packed into big cases and marked for shipment. At the far end adoor to a small room stood open. Inside a young man was tilted back ina swivel chair before a complicated instrument panel. C'mon in, he said, seeing us. If you want a look at your friends,here they are. He flicked a stud, and the entire wall above the panel underwent aslow change of colors. Those colors whirled kaleidescopically, thencoalesced into a three-dimensional scene. It was a scene of a rapidly unfolding desert country as seen from therear of a kite car. Directly behind the windscreen, backs turned to me,were Jimmy Baker, Grannie, and Xartal. It was as if I were standingdirectly behind them. It's Mr. Baker's own invention, the operator said. An improvement onthe visiphone. Do you mean to say you can follow the movements of that car and itspassengers wherever it goes? Can you hear them talk too? Sure. The operator turned another dial, and Grannie's falsetto voiceentered the room. It stopped abruptly. The machine uses a lot ofpower, the operator said, and as yet we haven't got much. The cloud of anxiety which had wrapped itself about me disappearedsomewhat as I viewed this device. At least I could now keep myselfposted of Grannie's movements. Karn and I went down to the commissary where we ate our supper. Whenwe returned to Jimmy Baker's office, the visiphone bell was ringing.I went over to it and turned it on, and to my surprise the face ofAntlers Park flashed on the screen. Hello, he said in his friendly way. I see you arrived all right. IsMiss Flowers there? Miss Flowers left with Mr. Baker for Shaft Four, I said. There'strouble up there. Red spot fever. Fever, eh? repeated Park. That's a shame. Is there anything I cando? Tell me, I said, has your company had any trouble with this plague? A little. But up until yesterday the fever's been confined to theother side of the Baldric. We had one partial case, but my chemistsgave the chap an antitoxin that seems to have worked. Come to think ofit, I might drive over to Shaft Four and give Jimmy Baker the formula.I haven't been out in the Baldric for years, but if you didn't have anytrouble, I shouldn't either. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he rang off. In exactlyan hour I went upstairs to the visiscreen room. Then once more I was directly behind my friends, listening in on theirconversation. The view through the windscreen showed an irregular arrayof flagpole trees, with the sky dotted by high-flying cockatoos. There's an eyrie over there, Jimmy Baker was saying. We might aswell camp beside it. <doc-sep>Moments later a rude circle of flagpole trees loomed ahead. Across thetop of them was stretched a translucent web. Jimmy and Grannie got outof the car and began making camp. Xartal remained in his seat. He wasdrawing pictures on large pieces of pasteboard, and as I stood there inthe visiscreen room, I watched him. There was no doubt about it, the Martian was clever. He would makea few rapid lines on one of the pasteboards, rub it a little to getthe proper shading and then go on to the next. In swift rotationlikenesses of Ezra Karn, of myself, of Jimmy Baker, and of Antlers Parktook form. Ezra spoke over my shoulder. He's doing scenes for Grannie's newbook, he said. The old lady figures on using the events here for aplot. Look at that damned nosy bird! A silver cockatoo had alighted on the kite car and was surveyingcuriously Xartal's work. As each drawing was completed, the birdscanned it with rapt attention. Abruptly it flew to the top of theeyrie, where it seemed to be having a consultation with its birdcompanions. And then abruptly it happened. The cockatoos took off in mass flight. Agroup of Earth people suddenly materialized on the eyrie, talking andmoving about as if it were the most natural thing in the world. With a shock I saw the likeness of myself; I saw Ezra Karn; and I sawthe image of Jimmy Baker. The real Jimmy Baker stood next to Grannie, staring up at thisincredible mirage. Grannie let out a whoop. I've got it! she said.Those things we see up there are nothing more than mental images.They're Xartal's drawings! <doc-sep>Don't you see, the lady continued. Everything that Xartal put onpaper has been seen by one or more of these cockatoos. The cockatoosare like Earth parrots all right, but not only have they the powerof copying speech, they also have the ability to recreate a mentalimage of what they have seen. In other words their brains form apowerful photographic impression of the object. That impression isthen transmitted simultaneously in telepathic wavelengths to commonfoci. That eyrie might be likened to a cinema screen, receiving brainvibrations from a hundred different sources that blend into the lightfield to form what are apparently three-dimensional images. The Larynx manager nodded slowly. I see, he said. But why don't thebirds reconstruct images from the actual person. Why use drawings? Probably because the drawings are exaggerated in certain details andmade a greater impression on their brains, Grannie replied. Up on the eyrie a strange performance was taking place. The duplicateof Grannie Annie was bowing to the duplicate of Jimmy Baker, and theimage of Ezra Karn was playing leap frog with the image of Antlers Park. Then abruptly the screen before me blurred and went blank. Sorry, the operator said. I've used too much power already. Have togive the generators a chance to build it up again. Nodding, I turned and motioned to Karn. We went back downstairs. That explains something at any rate, the old prospector said. Buthow about that Red spot fever? On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I openedit and found it contained the case histories of those men who had beenattacked by the strange malady. Reading them over, I was struck by one detail. Each patient hadreceived the first symptoms, not while working in the mines, but whilesleeping or lounging in the barracks. Five minutes later Karn and I were striding down a white ramp thatled to the nearest barracks. The building came into sight, a lowrectangular structure, dome-roofed to withstand the violent winds. Inside double tiers of bunks stretched along either wall. In thosebunks some thirty men lay sleeping. The far wall was taken up by a huge window of denvo-quartz. As I stoodthere, something suddenly caught Ezra Karn's eye. He began to walktoward that window. Look here, he said. Six feet up on that window a small almost imperceptible button of dullmetal had been wedged into an aperture cut in the quartz. The centralpart of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and asI seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work. All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-redrays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens toconcentrate and amplify the power of those rays. The internal clockworkserved a double purpose. It opened a shutter, and it rotated the lensslowly so that it played for a time on each of the sleeping men. I slid the metal button in my pocket and left the barracks at a run.Back in the visiscreen room, I snapped to the operator: Turn it on! The kite car swam into view in the screen above the instrument panel.I stared with open eyes. Jimmy Baker no longer was in the car, norwas Xartal, the Martian. Grannie Annie was there, but seated at thecontrols was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice. <doc-sep>Ezra Karn jabbed my elbow. Grannie's coming back. I thought she'd begetting sick of this blamed moon. It didn't make sense. In all the years I'd known Annabella C. Flowers,never yet had I seen her desert a case until she had woven the cluesand facts to a logical conclusion. Ezra, I said, we're going to drive out and meet them. There'ssomething screwy here. Ten minutes later in another kite car we were driving at a fast clipthrough the powdery sands of the Baldric. And before long we sawanother car approaching. It was Grannie. As the car drew up alongside I saw her sitting in herprim way next to Antlers Park. Park said: We left the others at the mine. Miss Flowers is going back with me tomy offices to help me improve the formula for that new antitoxin. He waved his hand, and the car moved off. I watched it as it spedacross the desert, and a growing suspicion began to form in my mind.Then, like a knife thrust, the truth struck me. Ezra! I yelled, swinging the car. That wasn't Grannie! That was oneof those damned cockatoo images. We've got to catch him. The other car was some distance ahead now. Park looked back and saw usfollowing. He did something to the kite wire, and his car leaped ahead. I threw the speed indicator hard over. Our kite was a huge box affairwith a steady powerful pull to the connecting wire. Park's vehiclewas drawn by a flat triangular kite that dove and fluttered with eachvariance of the wind. Steadily we began to close in. The manager of Interstellar Voice turned again, and something glintedin his hand. There was a flash of purple flame, and a round holeappeared in our windscreen inches above Karn's head. Heat gun! Ezra yelled. Now we were rocketing over the sand dunes, winding in and out betweenthe flagpole trees. I had to catch that car I told myself. GrannieAnnie's very life might be at stake, not to mention the lives ofhundreds of mine workers. Again Park took aim and again a holeshattered our windscreen. The wind shifted and blew from another quarter. The box kite soared,but the triangular kite faltered. Taking advantage of Park's loss ofspeed, I raced alongside. The I. V. manager lifted his weapon frantically. But before he coulduse it a third time, Ezra Karn had whipped a lariat from his belt andsent it coiling across the intervening space. The thong yanked tight about the manager's throat. Park did the onlything he could do. He shut off power, and the two cars coasted to ahalt. Then I was across in the other seat, wrenching the weapon freefrom his grasp. What have you done with Miss Flowers? I demanded. The manager's eyes glittered with fear as he saw my finger tense on thetrigger. Weakly he lifted an arm and pointed to the northwest. Val-ley. Thir-ty miles. Entrance hidden by wall of ... flagpole trees. <doc-sep>I leaped into the driver's seat and gave the kite its head. And now thecountry began to undergo a subtle change. The trees seemed to groupthemselves in a long flanking corridor in a northwesterly direction, asif to hide some secret that lay beyond. Twice I attempted to penetratethat wall, only to find my way blocked by those curious growths. Then a corridor opened before me; a mile forward and the desert beganagain. But it was a new desert this time: the sand packed hard asgranite, the way ahead utterly devoid of vegetation. In the distanceblack bulging hills extended to right and left, with a narrow chasm ordoorway between. I headed for that entrance, and when I reached it, I shut off powerwith an exclamation of astonishment. There was a huge chair-shaped rock there, and seated upon it wasGrannie Annie. She had a tablet in her hands, and she was writing. Grannie! I yelled. What're you doing here? Where's Mr. Baker? She rose to her feet and clambered down the rock. Getting back Jimmy's mine laborers, she said, a twinkle in her eyes.I see you've got Antlers Park. I'm glad of that. It saves me a lot oftrouble. She took off her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve.Don't look so fuddled, Billy-boy. Come along, and I'll show you. She led the way through the narrow passage into the valley. A deepgorge, it was, with the black sheer cliffs on either side pressingclose. Ten feet forward, I stopped short, staring in amazement. Advancing toward me like a column of infantry came a long line ofLarynx miners. They walked slowly, looking straight ahead, moving downthe center of the gorge toward the entrance. But there was more! A kite car was drawn up to the side. The windscreenhad been removed, and mounted on the hood was a large bullet-likecontrivance that looked not unlike a search lamp. A blinding shaft ofbluish radiance spewed from its open end. Playing it back and forthupon the marching men were Jimmy Baker and Xartal, the Martian. Ultra violet, Grannie Annie explained. The opposite end of thevibratory scale and the only thing that will combat the infra-red raysthat cause red spot fever. Those men won't stop walking until they'vereached Shaft Four. Grannie Annie told her story during the long ride back to Shaft Four.We drove slowly, keeping the line of marching Larynx miners alwaysahead of us. Jimmy Baker had struck a new big lode of Acoustix, a lode which ifworked successfully would see Larynx Incorporated become a far morepowerful exporting concern than Interstellar Voice . Antlers Parkdidn't want that. It was he or his agents who placed those lens buttons in the Larynxbarracks. For he knew that just as Jupiter's great spot wasresponsible for a climate and atmosphere suitable for an Earthman onthis Eighth Moon, so also was that spot a deadly power in itself,capable when its rays were concentrated of causing a fatal sickness. Then suddenly becoming fearful of Grannie's prying, Antlers Park stroveto head her off before she reached Shaft Four. He did head her off and managed to lure her and Baker and Xartal intothe Shaft barracks where they would be exposed to the rays from thelens button. But Grannie only pretended to contract the plague. Park then attempted to outwit Ezra Karn and me by returning in JimmyBaker's kite car with a cockatoo image of Grannie. <doc-sep>I listened to all this in silence. But, I said when she had finished,how did Park manage to have that image created and why did the minelaborers walk out into the Baldric when they contracted the fever? Grannie Annie frowned. I'm not sure I can answer the first of thosequestions, she replied. You must remember Antlers Park has been onthis moon five years and during that time he must have acquaintedhimself with many of its secrets. Probably he learned long ago justwhat to do to make a cockatoo create a mental image. As for the men going out into the Baldric, that was more of Park'sdiabolical work. In the walls of the barracks besides those lensbuttons were also miniature electro-hypnotic plates, with the mastercontrolling unit located in that valley. Park knew that when the minerswere in a drugged condition from the effects of the fever they wouldbe susceptible to the machine's lure.... And now, Billy-boy, are youcoming with me? Coming with you? I repeated. Where? The old lady lit a cigarette. Pluto maybe, she said. There's a penalcolony there, you know, and that ought to tie in nicely with a newcrime story. I can see it now ... prison break, stolen rocket ship,fugitives lurking in the interplanetary lanes.... Grannie, I laughed. You're incorrigible! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the importance of Acoustix in the story?

It is a precious, lightweight ore found on at least one of Jupiter’s moons (eighth moon) that is highly valuable on Mars, but of no value on Earth. Martians are able to speak out loud as Earthlings do by supersonically amplifying their thoughts. As Martians grow beyond middle age, they are no longer able to do this amplification without the assistance of the Acoustix ore. Thus, it is highly valuable to them.The ore is the only reason for colonization of Jupiter’s moons, and there are two main companies that mine it - Interstellar Voice, Larynx Incorporated. It becomes a source of greed, which causes the manager of Interstellar Voice (Antlers Karn) to attempt sabotage against the other company, serving as the main climax of the story.

What is Red Spot Fever? [SEP] <s> DOUBLE TROUBLE by CARL JACOBI Grannie Annie, that waspish science-fiction writer, was in a jam again. What with red-spot fever, talking cockatoos and flagpole trees, I was running in circles—especially since Grannie became twins every now and then. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] We had left the offices of Interstellar Voice three days ago, Earthtime, and now as the immense disc of Jupiter flamed across the sky,entered the outer limits of the Baldric. Grannie Annie strode in thelead, her absurd long-skirted black dress looking as out of place inthis desert as the trees. Flagpole trees. They rose straight up like enormous cat-tails, withonly a melon-shaped protuberance at the top to show they were a form ofvegetation. Everything else was blanketed by the sand and the powerfulwind that blew from all quarters. As we reached the first of those trees, Grannie came to a halt. This is the Baldric all right. If my calculations are right, we've hitit at its narrowest spot. Ezra Karn took a greasy pipe from his lips and spat. It looks like therest of this God-forsaken moon, he said, 'ceptin for them sticks. Xartal, the Martian illustrator, said nothing. He was like that,taciturn, speaking only when spoken to. He could be excused this time, however, for this was only our third dayon Jupiter's Eighth Moon, and the country was still strange to us. <doc-sep>When Annabella C. Flowers, that renowned writer of science fiction,visiphoned me at Crater City, Mars, to meet her here, I had thought shewas crazy. But Miss Flowers, known to her friends as Grannie Annie,had always been mildly crazy. If you haven't read her books, you'vemissed something. She's the author of Lady of the Green Flames , Lady of the Runaway Planet , Lady of the Crimson Space-Beast , andother works of science fiction. Blood-and-thunder as these books are,however, they have one redeeming feature—authenticity of background.Grannie Annie was the original research digger-upper, and when shelaid the setting of a yarn on a star of the sixth magnitude, only atransportation-velocity of less than light could prevent her fromvisiting her stage in person. Therefore when she asked me to meet her at the landing field of Interstellar Voice on Jupiter's Eighth Moon, I knew she had anothernovel in the state of embryo. What I didn't expect was Ezra Karn. He was an old prospector Granniehad met, and he had become so attached to the authoress he now followedher wherever she went. As for Xartal, he was a Martian and was slatedto do the illustrations for Grannie's new book. Five minutes after my ship had blasted down, the four of us met in theoffices of Interstellar Voice . And then I was shaking hands withAntlers Park, the manager of I. V. himself. Glad to meet you, he said cordially. I've just been trying topersuade Miss Flowers not to attempt a trip into the Baldric. What's the Baldric? I had asked. Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged. Will you believe me, sir, he said, when I tell you I've been outhere on this forsaken moon five years and don't rightly know myself? I scowled at that; it didn't make sense. However, as you perhaps know, the only reason for colonial activitieshere at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix.It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'mnot up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the redplanet has developed with a supersonic method of vocal communication.The Martian speaks as the Earthman does, but he amplifies his thoughts'transmission by way of wave lengths as high as three million vibrationsper second. The trouble is that by the time the average Martian reachesmiddle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases.Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their soundingapparatus, and the rush was on. What do you mean? Park leaned back. The rush to find more of the ore, he explained.But up until now this moon is the only place where it can be found. There are two companies here, he continued, Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated . Chap by the name of Jimmy Baker runs that.However, the point is, between the properties of these two companiesstretches a band or belt which has become known as the Baldric. There are two principal forms of life in the Baldric; flagpole treesand a species of ornithoid resembling cockatoos. So far no one hascrossed the Baldric without trouble. What sort of trouble? Grannie Annie had demanded. And when AntlersPark stuttered evasively, the old lady snorted, Fiddlesticks, I neversaw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. We leave in an hour. <doc-sep>So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelerson foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment andsupplies. I walked forward to get a closer view of one of the flagpole trees. Andthen abruptly I saw something else. A queer-looking bird squatted there in the sand, looking up at me.Silver in plumage, it resembled a parrot with a crest; and yet itdidn't. In some strange way the thing was a hideous caricature. Look what I found, I yelled. What I found, said the cockatoo in a very human voice. Thunder, it talks, I said amazed. Talks, repeated the bird, blinking its eyes. The cockatoo repeated my last statement again, then rose on its shortlegs, flapped its wings once and soared off into the sky. Xartal,the Martian illustrator, already had a notebook in his hands and wassketching a likeness of the creature. Ten minutes later we were on the move again. We saw more silvercockatoos and more flagpole trees. Above us, the great disc of Jupiterbegan to descend toward the horizon. And then all at once Grannie stopped again, this time at the top of ahigh ridge. She shielded her eyes and stared off into the plain we hadjust crossed. Billy-boy, she said to me in a strange voice, look down there andtell me what you see. I followed the direction of her hand and a shock went through me fromhead to foot. Down there, slowly toiling across the sand, advanced aparty of four persons. In the lead was a little old lady in a blackdress. Behind her strode a grizzled Earth man in a flop-brimmed hat,another Earth man, and a Martian. Detail for detail they were a duplicate of ourselves! A mirage! said Ezra Karn. But it wasn't a mirage. As the party came closer, we could see thattheir lips were moving, and their voices became audible. I listened inawe. The duplicate of myself was talking to the duplicate of GrannieAnnie, and she was replying in the most natural way. Steadily the four travelers approached. Then, when a dozen yards away,they suddenly faded like a negative exposed to light and disappeared. What do you make of it? I said in a hushed voice. Grannie shook her head. Might be a form of mass hypnosis superinducedby some chemical radiations, she replied. Whatever it is, we'd betterwatch our step. There's no telling what might lie ahead. We walked after that with taut nerves and watchful eyes, but we saw norepetition of the mirage. The wind continued to blow ceaselessly, andthe sand seemed to grow more and more powdery. For some time I had fixed my gaze on a dot in the sky which I supposedto be a high-flying cockatoo. As that dot continued to move across theheavens in a single direction, I called Grannie's attention to it. It's a kite, she nodded. There should be a car attached to itsomewhere. She offered no further explanation, but a quarter of an hour later aswe topped another rise a curious elliptical car with a long slantingwindscreen came into view. Attached to its hood was a taut wire whichslanted up into the sky to connect with the kite. A man was driving and when he saw us, he waved. Five minutes laterGrannie was shaking his hand vigorously and mumbling introductions. This is Jimmy Baker, she said. He manages Larynx Incorporated , andhe's the real reason we're here. I decided I liked Baker the moment I saw him. In his middle thirties,he was tall and lean, with pleasant blue eyes which even his sandgoggles could not conceal. I can't tell you how glad I am you're here, Grannie, he said. Ifanybody can help me, you can. Grannie's eyes glittered. Trouble with the mine laborers? shequestioned. <doc-sep>Jimmy Baker nodded. He told his story over the roar of the wind as weheaded back across the desert. Occasionally he touched a stud on anelectric windlass to which the kite wire was attached. Apparently theseadjustments moved planes or fins on the kite and accounted for thecar's ability to move in any direction. If I weren't a realist, I'd say that Larynx Incorporated has beenbewitched, he began slowly. We pay our men high wages and give themexcellent living conditions with a vacation on Callisto every year.Up until a short time ago most of them were in excellent health andspirits. Then the Red Spot Fever got them. Red Spot Fever? Grannie looked at him curiously. Jimmy Baker nodded. The first symptoms are a tendency to garrulousnesson the part of the patient. Then they disappear. He paused to make an adjustment of the windlass. They walk out into the Baldric, he continued, and nothing can stopthem. We tried following them, of course, but it was no go. As soon asthey realize they're being followed, they stop. But the moment our eyesare turned, they give us the slip. But surely you must have some idea of where they go, Grannie said. Baker lit a cigarette. There's all kinds of rumors, he replied, butnone of them will hold water. By the way, there's a cockatoo eyrieahead of us. I followed his gaze and saw a curious structure suspended betweena rude circle of flagpole trees. A strange web-like formation oftranslucent gauzy material, it was. Fully two hundred cockatoos wereperched upon it. They watched us with their mild eyes as we passed, butthey didn't move. After that we were rolling up the driveway that led to the offices of Larynx Incorporated . As Jimmy Baker led the way up the inclined ramp,a door in the central building opened, and a man emerged. His face wasdrawn. Mr. Baker, he said breathlessly, seventy-five workers at Shaft Fourhave headed out into the Baldric. Baker dropped his cigarette and ground his heel on it savagely. Shaft Four, eh? he repeated. That's our principal mine. If the feverspreads there, I'm licked. He motioned us into his office and strode across to a desk. SilentXartal, the Martian illustrator, took a chair in a corner and got hisnotebook out, sketching the room's interior. Grannie Annie remainedstanding. Presently the old lady walked across to the desk and helped herself tothe bottle of Martian whiskey there. There must be ways of stopping this, she said. Have you called inany physicians? Why don't you call an enforced vacation and send themen away until the plague has died down? Baker shook his head. Three doctors from Callisto were here lastmonth. They were as much at loss as I am. As for sending the men away,I may have to do that, but when I do, it means quits. Our company ischartered with Spacolonial, and you know what that means. Failureto produce during a period of thirty days or more, and you lose allrights. A visiphone bell sounded, and Baker walked across to the instrument. Aman's face formed in the vision plate. Baker listened, said Okay andthrew off the switch. The entire crew of Shaft Four have gone out into the Baldric, he saidslowly. There was a large map hanging on the wall back of Baker's desk.Grannie Annie walked across to it and began to study its markings. Shaft Four is at the outer edge of the Baldric at a point where thatcorridor is at its widest, she said. Baker looked up. That's right. We only began operations there acomparatively short time ago. Struck a rich vein of Acoustix thatruns deep in. If that vein holds out, we'll double the output of Interstellar Voice , our rival, in a year. Grannie nodded. I think you and I and Xartal had better take a run upthere, she said. But first I want to see your laboratory. There was no refusing her. Jimmy Baker led the way down to a lowerlevel where a huge laboratory and experimental shop ran the lengthof the building. Grannie seized a light weight carry-case and begandropping articles into it. A pontocated glass lens, three or fourWellington radite bulbs, each with a spectroscopic filament, a smalldynamo that would operate on a kite windlass, and a quantity of wireand other items. The kite car was brought out again, and the old woman, Baker and theMartian took their places in it. Then Jimmy waved, and the car began toroll down the ramp. <doc-sep>Not until they had vanished in the desert haze did I sense theloneliness of this outpost. With that loneliness came a sudden sense offoreboding. Had I been a fool to let Grannie go? I thought of her, anold woman who should be in a rocking chair, knitting socks. If anythinghappened to Annabella C. Flowers, I would never forgive myself andneither would her millions of readers. Ezra Karn and I went back into the office. The old prospector chuckled. Dang human dynamo. Got more energy than a runaway comet. A connecting door on the far side of the office opened onto a longcorridor which ended at a staircase. Let's look around, I said. We passed down the corridor and climbed the staircase to the secondfloor. Here were the general offices of Larynx Incorporated , andthrough glass doors I could see clerks busy with counting machines andreport tapes. In another chamber the extremely light Acoustix ore wasbeing packed into big cases and marked for shipment. At the far end adoor to a small room stood open. Inside a young man was tilted back ina swivel chair before a complicated instrument panel. C'mon in, he said, seeing us. If you want a look at your friends,here they are. He flicked a stud, and the entire wall above the panel underwent aslow change of colors. Those colors whirled kaleidescopically, thencoalesced into a three-dimensional scene. It was a scene of a rapidly unfolding desert country as seen from therear of a kite car. Directly behind the windscreen, backs turned to me,were Jimmy Baker, Grannie, and Xartal. It was as if I were standingdirectly behind them. It's Mr. Baker's own invention, the operator said. An improvement onthe visiphone. Do you mean to say you can follow the movements of that car and itspassengers wherever it goes? Can you hear them talk too? Sure. The operator turned another dial, and Grannie's falsetto voiceentered the room. It stopped abruptly. The machine uses a lot ofpower, the operator said, and as yet we haven't got much. The cloud of anxiety which had wrapped itself about me disappearedsomewhat as I viewed this device. At least I could now keep myselfposted of Grannie's movements. Karn and I went down to the commissary where we ate our supper. Whenwe returned to Jimmy Baker's office, the visiphone bell was ringing.I went over to it and turned it on, and to my surprise the face ofAntlers Park flashed on the screen. Hello, he said in his friendly way. I see you arrived all right. IsMiss Flowers there? Miss Flowers left with Mr. Baker for Shaft Four, I said. There'strouble up there. Red spot fever. Fever, eh? repeated Park. That's a shame. Is there anything I cando? Tell me, I said, has your company had any trouble with this plague? A little. But up until yesterday the fever's been confined to theother side of the Baldric. We had one partial case, but my chemistsgave the chap an antitoxin that seems to have worked. Come to think ofit, I might drive over to Shaft Four and give Jimmy Baker the formula.I haven't been out in the Baldric for years, but if you didn't have anytrouble, I shouldn't either. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then he rang off. In exactlyan hour I went upstairs to the visiscreen room. Then once more I was directly behind my friends, listening in on theirconversation. The view through the windscreen showed an irregular arrayof flagpole trees, with the sky dotted by high-flying cockatoos. There's an eyrie over there, Jimmy Baker was saying. We might aswell camp beside it. <doc-sep>Moments later a rude circle of flagpole trees loomed ahead. Across thetop of them was stretched a translucent web. Jimmy and Grannie got outof the car and began making camp. Xartal remained in his seat. He wasdrawing pictures on large pieces of pasteboard, and as I stood there inthe visiscreen room, I watched him. There was no doubt about it, the Martian was clever. He would makea few rapid lines on one of the pasteboards, rub it a little to getthe proper shading and then go on to the next. In swift rotationlikenesses of Ezra Karn, of myself, of Jimmy Baker, and of Antlers Parktook form. Ezra spoke over my shoulder. He's doing scenes for Grannie's newbook, he said. The old lady figures on using the events here for aplot. Look at that damned nosy bird! A silver cockatoo had alighted on the kite car and was surveyingcuriously Xartal's work. As each drawing was completed, the birdscanned it with rapt attention. Abruptly it flew to the top of theeyrie, where it seemed to be having a consultation with its birdcompanions. And then abruptly it happened. The cockatoos took off in mass flight. Agroup of Earth people suddenly materialized on the eyrie, talking andmoving about as if it were the most natural thing in the world. With a shock I saw the likeness of myself; I saw Ezra Karn; and I sawthe image of Jimmy Baker. The real Jimmy Baker stood next to Grannie, staring up at thisincredible mirage. Grannie let out a whoop. I've got it! she said.Those things we see up there are nothing more than mental images.They're Xartal's drawings! <doc-sep>Don't you see, the lady continued. Everything that Xartal put onpaper has been seen by one or more of these cockatoos. The cockatoosare like Earth parrots all right, but not only have they the powerof copying speech, they also have the ability to recreate a mentalimage of what they have seen. In other words their brains form apowerful photographic impression of the object. That impression isthen transmitted simultaneously in telepathic wavelengths to commonfoci. That eyrie might be likened to a cinema screen, receiving brainvibrations from a hundred different sources that blend into the lightfield to form what are apparently three-dimensional images. The Larynx manager nodded slowly. I see, he said. But why don't thebirds reconstruct images from the actual person. Why use drawings? Probably because the drawings are exaggerated in certain details andmade a greater impression on their brains, Grannie replied. Up on the eyrie a strange performance was taking place. The duplicateof Grannie Annie was bowing to the duplicate of Jimmy Baker, and theimage of Ezra Karn was playing leap frog with the image of Antlers Park. Then abruptly the screen before me blurred and went blank. Sorry, the operator said. I've used too much power already. Have togive the generators a chance to build it up again. Nodding, I turned and motioned to Karn. We went back downstairs. That explains something at any rate, the old prospector said. Buthow about that Red spot fever? On Jimmy Baker's desk was a large file marked: FEVER VICTIMS. I openedit and found it contained the case histories of those men who had beenattacked by the strange malady. Reading them over, I was struck by one detail. Each patient hadreceived the first symptoms, not while working in the mines, but whilesleeping or lounging in the barracks. Five minutes later Karn and I were striding down a white ramp thatled to the nearest barracks. The building came into sight, a lowrectangular structure, dome-roofed to withstand the violent winds. Inside double tiers of bunks stretched along either wall. In thosebunks some thirty men lay sleeping. The far wall was taken up by a huge window of denvo-quartz. As I stoodthere, something suddenly caught Ezra Karn's eye. He began to walktoward that window. Look here, he said. Six feet up on that window a small almost imperceptible button of dullmetal had been wedged into an aperture cut in the quartz. The centralpart of the button appeared to be a powerful lens of some kind, and asI seized it and pulled it loose, I felt the hum of tiny clock work. All at once I had it! Red spot fever. Heat fever from the infra-redrays of Jupiter's great spot. Someone had constructed this lens toconcentrate and amplify the power of those rays. The internal clockworkserved a double purpose. It opened a shutter, and it rotated the lensslowly so that it played for a time on each of the sleeping men. I slid the metal button in my pocket and left the barracks at a run.Back in the visiscreen room, I snapped to the operator: Turn it on! The kite car swam into view in the screen above the instrument panel.I stared with open eyes. Jimmy Baker no longer was in the car, norwas Xartal, the Martian. Grannie Annie was there, but seated at thecontrols was Antlers Park, the manager of Interstellar Voice. <doc-sep>Ezra Karn jabbed my elbow. Grannie's coming back. I thought she'd begetting sick of this blamed moon. It didn't make sense. In all the years I'd known Annabella C. Flowers,never yet had I seen her desert a case until she had woven the cluesand facts to a logical conclusion. Ezra, I said, we're going to drive out and meet them. There'ssomething screwy here. Ten minutes later in another kite car we were driving at a fast clipthrough the powdery sands of the Baldric. And before long we sawanother car approaching. It was Grannie. As the car drew up alongside I saw her sitting in herprim way next to Antlers Park. Park said: We left the others at the mine. Miss Flowers is going back with me tomy offices to help me improve the formula for that new antitoxin. He waved his hand, and the car moved off. I watched it as it spedacross the desert, and a growing suspicion began to form in my mind.Then, like a knife thrust, the truth struck me. Ezra! I yelled, swinging the car. That wasn't Grannie! That was oneof those damned cockatoo images. We've got to catch him. The other car was some distance ahead now. Park looked back and saw usfollowing. He did something to the kite wire, and his car leaped ahead. I threw the speed indicator hard over. Our kite was a huge box affairwith a steady powerful pull to the connecting wire. Park's vehiclewas drawn by a flat triangular kite that dove and fluttered with eachvariance of the wind. Steadily we began to close in. The manager of Interstellar Voice turned again, and something glintedin his hand. There was a flash of purple flame, and a round holeappeared in our windscreen inches above Karn's head. Heat gun! Ezra yelled. Now we were rocketing over the sand dunes, winding in and out betweenthe flagpole trees. I had to catch that car I told myself. GrannieAnnie's very life might be at stake, not to mention the lives ofhundreds of mine workers. Again Park took aim and again a holeshattered our windscreen. The wind shifted and blew from another quarter. The box kite soared,but the triangular kite faltered. Taking advantage of Park's loss ofspeed, I raced alongside. The I. V. manager lifted his weapon frantically. But before he coulduse it a third time, Ezra Karn had whipped a lariat from his belt andsent it coiling across the intervening space. The thong yanked tight about the manager's throat. Park did the onlything he could do. He shut off power, and the two cars coasted to ahalt. Then I was across in the other seat, wrenching the weapon freefrom his grasp. What have you done with Miss Flowers? I demanded. The manager's eyes glittered with fear as he saw my finger tense on thetrigger. Weakly he lifted an arm and pointed to the northwest. Val-ley. Thir-ty miles. Entrance hidden by wall of ... flagpole trees. <doc-sep>I leaped into the driver's seat and gave the kite its head. And now thecountry began to undergo a subtle change. The trees seemed to groupthemselves in a long flanking corridor in a northwesterly direction, asif to hide some secret that lay beyond. Twice I attempted to penetratethat wall, only to find my way blocked by those curious growths. Then a corridor opened before me; a mile forward and the desert beganagain. But it was a new desert this time: the sand packed hard asgranite, the way ahead utterly devoid of vegetation. In the distanceblack bulging hills extended to right and left, with a narrow chasm ordoorway between. I headed for that entrance, and when I reached it, I shut off powerwith an exclamation of astonishment. There was a huge chair-shaped rock there, and seated upon it wasGrannie Annie. She had a tablet in her hands, and she was writing. Grannie! I yelled. What're you doing here? Where's Mr. Baker? She rose to her feet and clambered down the rock. Getting back Jimmy's mine laborers, she said, a twinkle in her eyes.I see you've got Antlers Park. I'm glad of that. It saves me a lot oftrouble. She took off her spectacles and wiped them on her sleeve.Don't look so fuddled, Billy-boy. Come along, and I'll show you. She led the way through the narrow passage into the valley. A deepgorge, it was, with the black sheer cliffs on either side pressingclose. Ten feet forward, I stopped short, staring in amazement. Advancing toward me like a column of infantry came a long line ofLarynx miners. They walked slowly, looking straight ahead, moving downthe center of the gorge toward the entrance. But there was more! A kite car was drawn up to the side. The windscreenhad been removed, and mounted on the hood was a large bullet-likecontrivance that looked not unlike a search lamp. A blinding shaft ofbluish radiance spewed from its open end. Playing it back and forthupon the marching men were Jimmy Baker and Xartal, the Martian. Ultra violet, Grannie Annie explained. The opposite end of thevibratory scale and the only thing that will combat the infra-red raysthat cause red spot fever. Those men won't stop walking until they'vereached Shaft Four. Grannie Annie told her story during the long ride back to Shaft Four.We drove slowly, keeping the line of marching Larynx miners alwaysahead of us. Jimmy Baker had struck a new big lode of Acoustix, a lode which ifworked successfully would see Larynx Incorporated become a far morepowerful exporting concern than Interstellar Voice . Antlers Parkdidn't want that. It was he or his agents who placed those lens buttons in the Larynxbarracks. For he knew that just as Jupiter's great spot wasresponsible for a climate and atmosphere suitable for an Earthman onthis Eighth Moon, so also was that spot a deadly power in itself,capable when its rays were concentrated of causing a fatal sickness. Then suddenly becoming fearful of Grannie's prying, Antlers Park stroveto head her off before she reached Shaft Four. He did head her off and managed to lure her and Baker and Xartal intothe Shaft barracks where they would be exposed to the rays from thelens button. But Grannie only pretended to contract the plague. Park then attempted to outwit Ezra Karn and me by returning in JimmyBaker's kite car with a cockatoo image of Grannie. <doc-sep>I listened to all this in silence. But, I said when she had finished,how did Park manage to have that image created and why did the minelaborers walk out into the Baldric when they contracted the fever? Grannie Annie frowned. I'm not sure I can answer the first of thosequestions, she replied. You must remember Antlers Park has been onthis moon five years and during that time he must have acquaintedhimself with many of its secrets. Probably he learned long ago justwhat to do to make a cockatoo create a mental image. As for the men going out into the Baldric, that was more of Park'sdiabolical work. In the walls of the barracks besides those lensbuttons were also miniature electro-hypnotic plates, with the mastercontrolling unit located in that valley. Park knew that when the minerswere in a drugged condition from the effects of the fever they wouldbe susceptible to the machine's lure.... And now, Billy-boy, are youcoming with me? Coming with you? I repeated. Where? The old lady lit a cigarette. Pluto maybe, she said. There's a penalcolony there, you know, and that ought to tie in nicely with a newcrime story. I can see it now ... prison break, stolen rocket ship,fugitives lurking in the interplanetary lanes.... Grannie, I laughed. You're incorrigible! <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Red Spot Fever?

The symptoms of the fever are described as “garrulousness” followed by the victims leaving their post and walking into the Baldric desert.The fever is brought on by infra-red rays from Jupiter’s great spot. Normally, people on this moon aren’t coming down with the fever from their regular activities. However, a lens-like device mounted in the window of the worker barracks at Larynx Incorporated projects the infra-red rays from the great spot around the room onto the sleeping workers which puts them into this trance-like state.Antlers Karn is responsible for causing the Red Spot Fever by having the devices installed in his competitors' barracks. He also claims to have developed an antitoxin that would reverse the fever, however, it is implied that this was only a lie to cover up his actions.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> BEACH SCENE By MARSHALL KING Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was a fine day at the beach for Purnie's game—but his new friends played very rough! Purnie ran laughing and shouting through the forest until he could runno more. He fell headlong into a patch of blue moss and whooped withdelight in having this day free for exploring. He was free to see theocean at last. When he had caught his breath, he looked back through the forest. Nosign of the village; he had left it far behind. Safe from the scrutinyof brothers and parents, there was nothing now to stop him from goingto the ocean. This was the moment to stop time. On your mark! he shouted to the rippling stream and its orangewhirlpools. He glanced furtively from side to side, pretending thatsome object might try to get a head start. Get set! he challengedthe thin-winged bees that hovered over the abundant foliage. Stop!He shrieked this command upward toward the dense, low-hanging purpleclouds that perennially raced across the treetops, making one wonderhow tall the trees really were. His eyes took quick inventory. It was exactly as he knew it would be:the milky-orange stream had become motionless and its minute whirlpoolshad stopped whirling; a nearby bee hung suspended over a paka plant,its transparent wings frozen in position for a downward stroke; and theheavy purple fluid overhead held fast in its manufacture of whorls andnimbi. With everything around him in a state of perfect tableau, Purniehurried toward the ocean. If only the days weren't so short! he thought. There was so much tosee and so little time. It seemed that everyone except him had seenthe wonders of the beach country. The stories he had heard from hisbrothers and their friends had taunted him for as long as he couldremember. So many times had he heard these thrilling tales that now,as he ran along, he could clearly picture the wonderland as though hewere already there. There would be a rockslide of petrified logs toplay on, the ocean itself with waves higher than a house, the comicalthree-legged tripons who never stopped munching on seaweed, and manykinds of other wonderful creatures found only at the ocean. He bounced through the forest as though the world was reserved thisday just for him. And who could say it wasn't? he thought. Wasn't thishis fifth birthday? He ran along feeling sorry for four-year-olds, andeven for those who were only four and a half, for they were babies andwouldn't dare try slipping away to the ocean alone. But five! I'll set you free, Mr. Bee—just wait and see! As he passed one ofthe many motionless pollen-gathering insects he met on the way, he tookcare not to brush against it or disturb its interrupted task. WhenPurnie had stopped time, the bees—like all the other creatures hemet—had been arrested in their native activities, and he knew that assoon as he resumed time, everything would pick up where it had left off. <doc-sep>When he smelled an acid sweetness that told him the ocean was not faroff, his pulse quickened in anticipation. Rather than spoil what wasclearly going to be a perfect day, he chose to ignore the fact that hehad been forbidden to use time-stopping as a convenience for journeyingfar from home. He chose to ignore the oft-repeated statement that anhour of time-stopping consumed more energy than a week of foot-racing.He chose to ignore the negative maxim that small children who stoptime without an adult being present, may not live to regret it. He chose, instead, to picture the beaming praise of family and friendswhen they learned of his brave journey. The journey was long, the clock stood still. He stopped long enough togather some fruit that grew along the path. It would serve as his lunchduring this day of promise. With it under his arm he bounded along adozen more steps, then stopped abruptly in his tracks. He found himself atop a rocky knoll, overlooking the mighty sea! He was so overpowered by the vista before him that his Hurrah! cameout as a weak squeak. The ocean lay at the ready, its stilled wavesawaiting his command to resume their tidal sweep. The breakers alongthe shoreline hung in varying stages of disarray, some having alreadyexploded into towering white spray while others were poised in smoothorange curls waiting to start that action. And there were new friends everywhere! Overhead, a flock of spora werefrozen in a steep glide, preparatory to a beach landing. Purnie hadheard of these playful creatures many times. Today, with his brothersin school, he would have the pets all to himself. Further down thebeach was a pair of two-legged animals poised in mid-step, facingthe spot where Purnie now stood. Some distance behind them were eightmore, each of whom were motionless in a curious pose of interruptedanimation. And down in the water, where the ocean ran itself into thinnothingness upon the sand, he saw standing here and there the comicaltripons, those three-legged marine buffoons who made handsome careersof munching seaweed. Hi there! Purnie called. When he got no reaction, he remembered thathe himself was dead to the living world: he was still in a zone oftime-stopping, on the inside looking out. For him, the world wouldcontinue to be a tableau of mannikins until he resumed time. <doc-sep>Hi there! he called again; but now his mental attitude was that heexpected time to resume. It did! Immediately he was surrounded byactivity. He heard the roar of the crashing orange breakers, he tastedthe dew of acid that floated from the spray, and he saw his new friendscontinue the actions which he had stopped while back in the forest. He knew, too, that at this moment, in the forest, the little brookpicked up its flow where it had left off, the purple clouds resumedtheir leeward journey up the valley, and the bees continued theirpollen-gathering without having missed a single stroke of theirdelicate wings. The brook, the clouds, and the insects had not beeninterrupted in the least; their respective tasks had been performedwith continuing sureness. It was time itself that Purnie had stopped,not the world around him. He scampered around the rockpile and down the sandy cliff to meet thetripons who, to him, had just come to life. I can stand on my head! He set down his lunch and balanced himselfbottoms-up while his legs pawed the air in an effort to hold him inposition. He knew it was probably the worst head-stand he had everdone, for he felt weak and dizzy. Already time-stopping had left itsmark on his strength. But his spirits ran on unchecked. The tripon thought Purnie's feat was superb. It stopped munching longenough to give him a salutory wag of its rump before returning to itsrepast. Purnie ran from pillar to post, trying to see and do everything atonce. He looked around to greet the flock of spora, but they had glidedto a spot further along the shore. Then, bouncing up to the first ofthe two-legged animals, he started to burst forth with his habitual Hithere! when he heard them making sounds of their own. ... will be no limit to my operations now, Benson. This planet makesseventeen. Seventeen planets I can claim as my own! My, my. Seventeen planets. And tell me, Forbes, just what the hell areyou going to do with them—mount them on the wall of your den back inSan Diego? Hi there, wanna play? Purnie's invitation got nothing more thanstartled glance from the animals who quickly returned to their chatter.He scampered up the beach, picked up his lunch, and ran back to them,tagging along at their heels. I've got my lunch, want some? Benson, you'd better tell your men back there to stop gawking atthe scenery and get to work. Time is money. I didn't pay for thisexpedition just to give your flunkies a vacation. <doc-sep>The animals stopped so suddenly that Purnie nearly tangled himself intheir heels. All right, Forbes, just hold it a minute. Listen to me. Sure, it'syour money that put us here; it's your expedition all the way. But youhired me to get you here with the best crew on earth, and that's justwhat I've done. My job isn't over yet. I'm responsible for the safetyof the men while we're here, and for the safe trip home. Precisely. And since you're responsible, get 'em working. Tell 'em tobring along the flag. Look at the damn fools back there, playing in theocean with a three-legged ostrich! Good God, man, aren't you human? We've only been on this planet twentyminutes! Naturally they want to look around. They half expected to findwild animals or worse, and here we are surrounded by quaint littlecreatures that run up to us like we're long-lost brothers. Let the menlook around a minute or two before we stake out your claim. Bah! Bunch of damn children. As Purnie followed along, a leg shot out at him and missed. Benson,will you get this bug-eyed kangaroo away from me! Purnie shrieked withjoy at this new frolic and promptly stood on his head. In this positionhe got an upside down view of them walking away. He gave up trying to stay with them. Why did they move so fast, anyway?What was the hurry? As he sat down and began eating his lunch, threemore of the creatures came along making excited noises, apparentlytrying to catch up to the first two. As they passed him, he held outhis lunch. Want some? No response. Playing held more promise than eating. He left his lunch half eaten andwent down to where they had stopped further along the beach. Captain Benson, sir! Miles has detected strong radiation in thevicinity. He's trying to locate it now. There you are, Forbes. Your new piece of real estate is going to makeyou so rich that you can buy your next planet. That'll make eighteen, Ibelieve. Radiation, bah! We've found low-grade ore on every planet I'vediscovered so far, and this one'll be no different. Now how about thatflag? Let's get it up, Benson. And the cornerstone, and the plaque. All right, lads. The sooner we get Mr. Forbes's pennant raised and hisclaim staked out, the sooner we can take time to look around. Livelynow! <doc-sep>When the three animals went back to join the rest of their group, thefirst two resumed walking. Purnie followed along. Well, Benson, you won't have to look far for materials to use for thebase of the flag pole. Look at that rockpile up there. Can't use them. They're petrified logs. The ones on top are too highto carry down, and if we move those on the bottom, the whole works willslide down on top of us. Well—that's your problem. Just remember, I want this flag pole to besolid. It's got to stand at least— Don't worry, Forbes, we'll get your monument erected. What's this withthe flag? There must be more to staking a claim than just putting up aflag. There is, there is. Much more. I've taken care of all requirements setdown by law to make my claim. But the flag? Well, you might say itrepresents an empire, Benson. The Forbes Empire. On each of my flagsis the word FORBES, a symbol of development and progress. Call itsentiment if you will. Don't worry, I won't. I've seen real-estate flags before. Damn it all, will you stop referring to this as a real-estate deal?What I'm doing is big, man. Big! This is pioneering. Of course. And if I'm not mistaken, you've set up a neat little escrowsystem so that you not only own the planets, but you will virtually ownthe people who are foolish enough to buy land on them. I could have your hide for talking to me like this. Damn you, man!It's people like me who pay your way. It's people like me who give yourspace ships some place to go. It's people like me who pour good moneyinto a chancey job like this, so that people like you can get away fromthirteen-story tenement houses. Did you ever think of that? I imagine you'll triple your money in six months. When they stopped, Purnie stopped. At first he had been interested inthe strange sounds they were making, but as he grew used to them, andas they in turn ignored his presence, he hopped alongside chattering tohimself, content to be in their company. He heard more of these sounds coming from behind, and he turned to seethe remainder of the group running toward them. Captain Benson! Here's the flag, sir. And here's Miles with thescintillometer. He says the radiation's getting stronger over this way! How about that, Miles? This thing's going wild, Captain. It's almost off scale. <doc-sep>Purnie saw one of the animals hovering around him with a little box.Thankful for the attention, he stood on his head. Can you do this?He was overjoyed at the reaction. They all started making wonderfulnoises, and he felt most satisfied. Stand back, Captain! Here's the source right here! This littlechuck-walla's hotter than a plutonium pile! Let me see that, Miles. Well, I'll be damned! Now what do yousuppose— By now they had formed a widening circle around him, and he was hardput to think of an encore. He gambled on trying a brand new trick: hestood on one leg. Benson, I must have that animal! Put him in a box. Now wait a minute, Forbes. Universal Law forbids— This is my planet and I am the law. Put him in a box! With my crew as witness, I officially protest— Good God, what a specimen to take back. Radio-active animals! Why,they can reproduce themselves, of course! There must be thousands ofthese creatures around here someplace. And to think of those damn foolson Earth with their plutonium piles! Hah! Now I'll have investors flocking to me. How about it, Benson—does pioneering pay off ordoesn't it? Not so fast. Since this little fellow is radioactive, there may begreat danger to the crew— Now look here! You had planned to put mineral specimens in a leadbox, so what's the difference? Put him in a box. He'll die. I have you under contract, Benson! You are responsible to me, andwhat's more, you are on my property. Put him in a box. Purnie was tired. First the time-stopping, then this. While this dayhad brought more fun and excitement than he could have hoped for,the strain was beginning to tell. He lay in the center of the circlehappily exhausted, hoping that his friends would show him some of theirown tricks. He didn't have to wait long. The animals forming the circle steppedback and made way for two others who came through carrying a box.Purnie sat up to watch the show. Hell, Captain, why don't I just pick him up? Looks like he has nointention of running away. Better not, Cabot. Even though you're shielded, no telling whatpowers the little fella has. Play it safe and use the rope. I swear he knows what we're saying. Look at those eyes. All right, careful now with that line. Come on, baby. Here you go. That's a boy! <doc-sep>Purnie took in these sounds with perplexed concern. He sensed theimploring quality of the creature with the rope, but he didn't knowwhat he was supposed to do. He cocked his head to one side as hewiggled in anticipation. He saw the noose spinning down toward his head, and, before he knewit, he had scooted out of the circle and up the sandy beach. He wassurprised at himself for running away. Why had he done it? He wondered.Never before had he felt this fleeting twinge that made him want toprotect himself. He watched the animals huddle around the box on the beach, theirattention apparently diverted to something else. He wished now that hehad not run away; he felt he had lost his chance to join in their fun. Wait! He ran over to his half-eaten lunch, picked it up, and ran backinto the little crowd. I've got my lunch, want some? The party came to life once more. His friends ran this way and that,and at last Purnie knew that the idea was to get him into the box.He picked up the spirit of the tease, and deliberately ran within afew feet of the lead box, then, just as the nearest pursuer was aboutto push him in, he sidestepped onto safer ground. Then he heard adeafening roar and felt a warm, wet sting in one of his legs. Forbes, you fool! Put away that gun! There you are, boys. It's all in knowing how. Just winged him, that'sall. Now pick him up. The pang in his leg was nothing: Purnie's misery lay in his confusion.What had he done wrong? When he saw the noose spinning toward himagain, he involuntarily stopped time. He knew better than to use thispower carelessly, but his action now was reflex. In that split secondfollowing the sharp sting in his leg, his mind had grasped in alldirections to find an acceptable course of action. Finding none, it hadordered the stoppage of time. The scene around him became a tableau once more. The noose hungmotionless over his head while the rest of the rope snaked its way intransverse waves back to one of the two-legged animals. Purnie draggedhimself through the congregation, whimpering from his inability tounderstand. As he worked his way past one creature after another, he tried at firstto not look them in the eye, for he felt sure he had done somethingwrong. Then he thought that by sneaking a glance at them as he passed,he might see a sign pointing to their purpose. He limped by one who hadin his hand a small shiny object that had been emitting smoke from oneend; the smoke now billowed in lifeless curls about the animal's head.He hobbled by another who held a small box that had previously made ahissing sound whenever Purnie was near. These things told him nothing.Before starting his climb up the knoll, he passed a tripon which, trueto its reputation, was comical even in fright. Startled by the loudexplosion, it had jumped four feet into the air before Purnie hadstopped time. Now it hung there, its beak stuffed with seaweed and itsthree legs drawn up into a squatting position. Leaving the assorted statues behind, he limped his way up the knoll,torn between leaving and staying. What an odd place, this oceancountry! He wondered why he had not heard more detail about the beachanimals. Reaching the top of the bluff, he looked down upon his silent friendswith a feeling of deep sorrow. How he wished he were down there playingwith them. But he knew at last that theirs was a game he didn't fitinto. Now there was nothing left but to resume time and start thelong walk home. Even though the short day was nearly over, he knew hedidn't dare use time-stopping to get himself home in nothing flat. Hisfatigued body and clouded mind were strong signals that he had alreadyabused this faculty. <doc-sep>When Purnie started time again, the animal with the noose stood inopen-mouthed disbelief as the rope fell harmlessly to the sand—on thespot where Purnie had been standing. My God, he's—he's gone. Then another of the animals, the one with the smoking thing in hishand, ran a few steps toward the noose, stopped and gaped at the rope.All right, you people, what's going on here? Get him in that box. Whatdid you do with him? The resumption of time meant nothing at all to those on the beach, forto them time had never stopped. The only thing they could be sure ofwas that at one moment there had been a fuzzy creature hopping aroundin front of them, and the next moment he was gone. Is he invisible, Captain? Where is he? Up there, Captain! On those rocks. Isn't that him? Well, I'll be damned! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsible for this! Now thatyou've botched it up, I'll bring him down my own way. Just a minute, Forbes, let me think. There's something about thatfuzzy little devil that we should.... Forbes! I warned you about thatgun! Purnie moved across the top of the rockpile for a last look at hisfriends. His weight on the end of the first log started the slide.Slowly at first, the giant pencils began cascading down the shortdistance to the sand. Purnie fell back onto solid ground, horrified atthe spectacle before him. The agonizing screams of the animals belowfilled him with hysteria. The boulders caught most of them as they stood ankle-deep in the surf.Others were pinned down on the sand. I didn't mean it! Purnie screamed. I'm sorry! Can't you hear? Hehopped back and forth near the edge of the rise, torn with panic andshame. Get up! Please get up! He was horrified by the moans reachinghis ears from the beach. You're getting all wet! Did you hear me?Please get up. He was choked with rage and sorrow. How could he havedone this? He wanted his friends to get up and shake themselves off,tell him it was all right. But it was beyond his power to bring itabout. The lapping tide threatened to cover those in the orange surf. <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath. Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me? I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown! Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving? The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water— Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop. Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore. It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke. Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him. At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim. He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time. Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below. Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened. His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe. He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no urging time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand.... <doc-sep>His friends came to life. The first one he saw stir lay on his stomachand pounded his fists on the beach. A flood of relief settled overPurnie as sounds came from the animal. What's the matter with me? Somebody tell me! Am I nuts? Miles! Schick!What's happening? I'm coming, Rhodes! Heaven help us, man—I saw it, too. We're eithercrazy or those damn logs are alive! It's not the logs. How about us? How'd we get out of the water? Miles,we're both cracking. I'm telling you, man, it's the logs, or rocks or whatever they are.I was looking right at them. First they're on top of me, then they'repiled up over there! Damnit, the logs didn't pick us up out of the ocean, did they? CaptainBenson! Are you men all right? Yes sir, but— Who saw exactly what happened? I'm afraid we're not seeing right, Captain. Those logs— I know, I know. Now get hold of yourselves. We've got to round up theothers and get out of here while time is on our side. But what happened, Captain? Hell, Rhodes, don't you think I'd like to know? Those logs are so oldthey're petrified. The whole bunch of us couldn't lift one. It wouldtake super-human energy to move one of those things. I haven't seen anything super-human. Those ostriches down there are sobusy eating seaweed— All right, let's bear a hand here with the others. Some of them can'twalk. Where's Forbes? He's sitting down there in the water, Captain, crying like a baby. Orlaughing. I can't tell which. We'll have to get him. Miles, Schick, come along. Forbes! You allright? Ho-ho-ho! Seventeen! Seventeen! Seventeen planets, Benson, and they'lldo anything I say! This one's got a mind of its own. Did you see thatlittle trick with the rocks? Ho-ho! See if you can find his gun, Schick; he'll either kill himself or oneof us. Tie his hands and take him back to the ship. We'll be alongshortly. Hah-hah-hah! Seventeen! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsiblefor this. Hee-hee! <doc-sep>Purnie opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Had his friends gone? He pulled himself along on his stomach to a position between two rocks,where he could see without being seen. By the light of the twin moonshe saw that they were leaving, marching away in groups of two andthree, the weak helping the weaker. As they disappeared around thecurving shoreline, the voices of the last two, bringing up the rear farbehind the others, fell faintly on his ears over the sound of the surf. Is it possible that we're all crazy, Captain? It's possible, but we're not. I wish I could be sure. See Forbes up ahead there? What do you think of him? I still can't believe it. He'll never be the same. Tell me something. What was the most unusual thing you noticed backthere? You must be kidding, sir. Why, the way those logs were off of ussuddenly— Yes, of course. But I mean beside that. Well, I guess I was kind of busy. You know, scared and mixed up. But didn't you notice our little pop-eyed friend? Oh, him. I'm afraid not, Captain. I—I guess I was thinking mostly ofmyself. Hmmm. If I could only be sure I saw him. If only someone else saw himtoo. I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir. Well, damn it all, you know that Forbes took a pot shot at him. Gothim in the leg. That being the case, why would the fuzzy little devilcome back to his tormentors—back to us—when we were trapped underthose logs? Well, I guess as long as we were trapped, he figured we couldn't dohim any more harm.... I'm sorry, that was a stupid answer. I guess I'mstill a little shaky. Forget it. Look, you go ahead to the ship and make ready for take-off.I'll join you in a few minutes. I think I'll go back and look around.You know. Make sure we haven't left anyone. No need to do that. They're all ahead of us. I've checked. That's my responsibility, Cabot, not yours. Now go on. <doc-sep>As Purnie lay gathering strength for the long trek home, he saw throughglazed eyes one of the animals coming back along the beach. When it wasnearly directly below him, he could hear it making sounds that by nowhad become familiar. Where are you? Purnie paid little attention to the antics of his friend; he wasbeyond understanding. He wondered what they would say at home when hereturned. We've made a terrible mistake. We— The sounds faded in and out onPurnie's ears as the creature turned slowly and called in differentdirections. He watched the animal walk over to the pile of scatteredlogs and peer around and under them. If you're hurt I'd like to help! The twin moons were high in the skynow, and where their light broke through the swirling clouds a doubleshadow was cast around the animal. With foggy awareness, Purnie watchedthe creature shake its head slowly, then walk away in the direction ofthe others. Purnie's eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. Thebeach was deserted now, and his gaze was transfixed on a shimmeringwhite square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnieever saw, was emblazoned the word FORBES. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Purnie, an animal, is going to see the ocean on his fifth birthday. He has heard stories about this place, and experiencing it firsthand is surreal for him. Purnie is careful not to disturb the animals he sees along the way because he has frozen time, and everything must resume normally when he unfreezes it. He knows that time-stopping is forbidden for animals his age, but he chooses to believe that his family will be proud of his bravery. Finally, he sees the ocean in front of him, and he resumes time. He does a head-stand and feels weak and dizzy. These feelings are a result of the time-stop, and he knows it. Purnie approaches some humans on the beach. A man named Forbes is in the middle of explaining to his captain, Benson, that he has found 17 planets to claim as his own. Forbes is hellbent on raising his FORBES flag as soon as possible. He is eager to stake his claim to the land and says that his mission is much bigger than real estate alone. Benson retorts that yes, his mission is bigger than just real estate because his paperwork says that Forbes will own all of the inhabitants of the planets he claims as well as the land. The crew members use a special machine and find radiation emanating from Purnie. Forbes demands that they put the animal in a box. Benson protests and reminds Forbes that it’s against Universal Law, but Forbes insists. Purnie experiences his first-ever impulse to run away with fear when a noose comes towards him. He goes back to pick up his fruit, and Forbes shoots him in the leg. When the man throws the noose again, Purnie involuntarily stops time. He drags himself up the knoll where he originally came from. The humans are astonished when time resumes and Purnie is not where he was a split second ago. They spot him up on top of a pile of petrified logs, and suddenly the logs fall down the hill and pin the men down. Purnie is shocked and regretful. The whole thing was an accident. He deliberately stops time and uses all of his remaining strength to lift the logs off of the humans. Purnie begins to lose consciousness, and he knows that he must resume time or he will die. After pouring all of his strength into this action, time does begin again. The humans resume life and feel as though they have gone mad. They know that they were just facing death by drowning, and now they are free. The logs were so heavy that it would have taken superhuman strength to move them. Forbes, in particular, has really gone mad, and he laughs to himself uncontrollably. Benson believes that Purnie was responsible for moving the logs, but of course that seems physically impossible. Purnie stares off at the beautiful ocean views and watches the men leave in their vehicle as he dies.

Describe Forbes' relationship with Benson. [SEP] <s> BEACH SCENE By MARSHALL KING Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was a fine day at the beach for Purnie's game—but his new friends played very rough! Purnie ran laughing and shouting through the forest until he could runno more. He fell headlong into a patch of blue moss and whooped withdelight in having this day free for exploring. He was free to see theocean at last. When he had caught his breath, he looked back through the forest. Nosign of the village; he had left it far behind. Safe from the scrutinyof brothers and parents, there was nothing now to stop him from goingto the ocean. This was the moment to stop time. On your mark! he shouted to the rippling stream and its orangewhirlpools. He glanced furtively from side to side, pretending thatsome object might try to get a head start. Get set! he challengedthe thin-winged bees that hovered over the abundant foliage. Stop!He shrieked this command upward toward the dense, low-hanging purpleclouds that perennially raced across the treetops, making one wonderhow tall the trees really were. His eyes took quick inventory. It was exactly as he knew it would be:the milky-orange stream had become motionless and its minute whirlpoolshad stopped whirling; a nearby bee hung suspended over a paka plant,its transparent wings frozen in position for a downward stroke; and theheavy purple fluid overhead held fast in its manufacture of whorls andnimbi. With everything around him in a state of perfect tableau, Purniehurried toward the ocean. If only the days weren't so short! he thought. There was so much tosee and so little time. It seemed that everyone except him had seenthe wonders of the beach country. The stories he had heard from hisbrothers and their friends had taunted him for as long as he couldremember. So many times had he heard these thrilling tales that now,as he ran along, he could clearly picture the wonderland as though hewere already there. There would be a rockslide of petrified logs toplay on, the ocean itself with waves higher than a house, the comicalthree-legged tripons who never stopped munching on seaweed, and manykinds of other wonderful creatures found only at the ocean. He bounced through the forest as though the world was reserved thisday just for him. And who could say it wasn't? he thought. Wasn't thishis fifth birthday? He ran along feeling sorry for four-year-olds, andeven for those who were only four and a half, for they were babies andwouldn't dare try slipping away to the ocean alone. But five! I'll set you free, Mr. Bee—just wait and see! As he passed one ofthe many motionless pollen-gathering insects he met on the way, he tookcare not to brush against it or disturb its interrupted task. WhenPurnie had stopped time, the bees—like all the other creatures hemet—had been arrested in their native activities, and he knew that assoon as he resumed time, everything would pick up where it had left off. <doc-sep>When he smelled an acid sweetness that told him the ocean was not faroff, his pulse quickened in anticipation. Rather than spoil what wasclearly going to be a perfect day, he chose to ignore the fact that hehad been forbidden to use time-stopping as a convenience for journeyingfar from home. He chose to ignore the oft-repeated statement that anhour of time-stopping consumed more energy than a week of foot-racing.He chose to ignore the negative maxim that small children who stoptime without an adult being present, may not live to regret it. He chose, instead, to picture the beaming praise of family and friendswhen they learned of his brave journey. The journey was long, the clock stood still. He stopped long enough togather some fruit that grew along the path. It would serve as his lunchduring this day of promise. With it under his arm he bounded along adozen more steps, then stopped abruptly in his tracks. He found himself atop a rocky knoll, overlooking the mighty sea! He was so overpowered by the vista before him that his Hurrah! cameout as a weak squeak. The ocean lay at the ready, its stilled wavesawaiting his command to resume their tidal sweep. The breakers alongthe shoreline hung in varying stages of disarray, some having alreadyexploded into towering white spray while others were poised in smoothorange curls waiting to start that action. And there were new friends everywhere! Overhead, a flock of spora werefrozen in a steep glide, preparatory to a beach landing. Purnie hadheard of these playful creatures many times. Today, with his brothersin school, he would have the pets all to himself. Further down thebeach was a pair of two-legged animals poised in mid-step, facingthe spot where Purnie now stood. Some distance behind them were eightmore, each of whom were motionless in a curious pose of interruptedanimation. And down in the water, where the ocean ran itself into thinnothingness upon the sand, he saw standing here and there the comicaltripons, those three-legged marine buffoons who made handsome careersof munching seaweed. Hi there! Purnie called. When he got no reaction, he remembered thathe himself was dead to the living world: he was still in a zone oftime-stopping, on the inside looking out. For him, the world wouldcontinue to be a tableau of mannikins until he resumed time. <doc-sep>Hi there! he called again; but now his mental attitude was that heexpected time to resume. It did! Immediately he was surrounded byactivity. He heard the roar of the crashing orange breakers, he tastedthe dew of acid that floated from the spray, and he saw his new friendscontinue the actions which he had stopped while back in the forest. He knew, too, that at this moment, in the forest, the little brookpicked up its flow where it had left off, the purple clouds resumedtheir leeward journey up the valley, and the bees continued theirpollen-gathering without having missed a single stroke of theirdelicate wings. The brook, the clouds, and the insects had not beeninterrupted in the least; their respective tasks had been performedwith continuing sureness. It was time itself that Purnie had stopped,not the world around him. He scampered around the rockpile and down the sandy cliff to meet thetripons who, to him, had just come to life. I can stand on my head! He set down his lunch and balanced himselfbottoms-up while his legs pawed the air in an effort to hold him inposition. He knew it was probably the worst head-stand he had everdone, for he felt weak and dizzy. Already time-stopping had left itsmark on his strength. But his spirits ran on unchecked. The tripon thought Purnie's feat was superb. It stopped munching longenough to give him a salutory wag of its rump before returning to itsrepast. Purnie ran from pillar to post, trying to see and do everything atonce. He looked around to greet the flock of spora, but they had glidedto a spot further along the shore. Then, bouncing up to the first ofthe two-legged animals, he started to burst forth with his habitual Hithere! when he heard them making sounds of their own. ... will be no limit to my operations now, Benson. This planet makesseventeen. Seventeen planets I can claim as my own! My, my. Seventeen planets. And tell me, Forbes, just what the hell areyou going to do with them—mount them on the wall of your den back inSan Diego? Hi there, wanna play? Purnie's invitation got nothing more thanstartled glance from the animals who quickly returned to their chatter.He scampered up the beach, picked up his lunch, and ran back to them,tagging along at their heels. I've got my lunch, want some? Benson, you'd better tell your men back there to stop gawking atthe scenery and get to work. Time is money. I didn't pay for thisexpedition just to give your flunkies a vacation. <doc-sep>The animals stopped so suddenly that Purnie nearly tangled himself intheir heels. All right, Forbes, just hold it a minute. Listen to me. Sure, it'syour money that put us here; it's your expedition all the way. But youhired me to get you here with the best crew on earth, and that's justwhat I've done. My job isn't over yet. I'm responsible for the safetyof the men while we're here, and for the safe trip home. Precisely. And since you're responsible, get 'em working. Tell 'em tobring along the flag. Look at the damn fools back there, playing in theocean with a three-legged ostrich! Good God, man, aren't you human? We've only been on this planet twentyminutes! Naturally they want to look around. They half expected to findwild animals or worse, and here we are surrounded by quaint littlecreatures that run up to us like we're long-lost brothers. Let the menlook around a minute or two before we stake out your claim. Bah! Bunch of damn children. As Purnie followed along, a leg shot out at him and missed. Benson,will you get this bug-eyed kangaroo away from me! Purnie shrieked withjoy at this new frolic and promptly stood on his head. In this positionhe got an upside down view of them walking away. He gave up trying to stay with them. Why did they move so fast, anyway?What was the hurry? As he sat down and began eating his lunch, threemore of the creatures came along making excited noises, apparentlytrying to catch up to the first two. As they passed him, he held outhis lunch. Want some? No response. Playing held more promise than eating. He left his lunch half eaten andwent down to where they had stopped further along the beach. Captain Benson, sir! Miles has detected strong radiation in thevicinity. He's trying to locate it now. There you are, Forbes. Your new piece of real estate is going to makeyou so rich that you can buy your next planet. That'll make eighteen, Ibelieve. Radiation, bah! We've found low-grade ore on every planet I'vediscovered so far, and this one'll be no different. Now how about thatflag? Let's get it up, Benson. And the cornerstone, and the plaque. All right, lads. The sooner we get Mr. Forbes's pennant raised and hisclaim staked out, the sooner we can take time to look around. Livelynow! <doc-sep>When the three animals went back to join the rest of their group, thefirst two resumed walking. Purnie followed along. Well, Benson, you won't have to look far for materials to use for thebase of the flag pole. Look at that rockpile up there. Can't use them. They're petrified logs. The ones on top are too highto carry down, and if we move those on the bottom, the whole works willslide down on top of us. Well—that's your problem. Just remember, I want this flag pole to besolid. It's got to stand at least— Don't worry, Forbes, we'll get your monument erected. What's this withthe flag? There must be more to staking a claim than just putting up aflag. There is, there is. Much more. I've taken care of all requirements setdown by law to make my claim. But the flag? Well, you might say itrepresents an empire, Benson. The Forbes Empire. On each of my flagsis the word FORBES, a symbol of development and progress. Call itsentiment if you will. Don't worry, I won't. I've seen real-estate flags before. Damn it all, will you stop referring to this as a real-estate deal?What I'm doing is big, man. Big! This is pioneering. Of course. And if I'm not mistaken, you've set up a neat little escrowsystem so that you not only own the planets, but you will virtually ownthe people who are foolish enough to buy land on them. I could have your hide for talking to me like this. Damn you, man!It's people like me who pay your way. It's people like me who give yourspace ships some place to go. It's people like me who pour good moneyinto a chancey job like this, so that people like you can get away fromthirteen-story tenement houses. Did you ever think of that? I imagine you'll triple your money in six months. When they stopped, Purnie stopped. At first he had been interested inthe strange sounds they were making, but as he grew used to them, andas they in turn ignored his presence, he hopped alongside chattering tohimself, content to be in their company. He heard more of these sounds coming from behind, and he turned to seethe remainder of the group running toward them. Captain Benson! Here's the flag, sir. And here's Miles with thescintillometer. He says the radiation's getting stronger over this way! How about that, Miles? This thing's going wild, Captain. It's almost off scale. <doc-sep>Purnie saw one of the animals hovering around him with a little box.Thankful for the attention, he stood on his head. Can you do this?He was overjoyed at the reaction. They all started making wonderfulnoises, and he felt most satisfied. Stand back, Captain! Here's the source right here! This littlechuck-walla's hotter than a plutonium pile! Let me see that, Miles. Well, I'll be damned! Now what do yousuppose— By now they had formed a widening circle around him, and he was hardput to think of an encore. He gambled on trying a brand new trick: hestood on one leg. Benson, I must have that animal! Put him in a box. Now wait a minute, Forbes. Universal Law forbids— This is my planet and I am the law. Put him in a box! With my crew as witness, I officially protest— Good God, what a specimen to take back. Radio-active animals! Why,they can reproduce themselves, of course! There must be thousands ofthese creatures around here someplace. And to think of those damn foolson Earth with their plutonium piles! Hah! Now I'll have investors flocking to me. How about it, Benson—does pioneering pay off ordoesn't it? Not so fast. Since this little fellow is radioactive, there may begreat danger to the crew— Now look here! You had planned to put mineral specimens in a leadbox, so what's the difference? Put him in a box. He'll die. I have you under contract, Benson! You are responsible to me, andwhat's more, you are on my property. Put him in a box. Purnie was tired. First the time-stopping, then this. While this dayhad brought more fun and excitement than he could have hoped for,the strain was beginning to tell. He lay in the center of the circlehappily exhausted, hoping that his friends would show him some of theirown tricks. He didn't have to wait long. The animals forming the circle steppedback and made way for two others who came through carrying a box.Purnie sat up to watch the show. Hell, Captain, why don't I just pick him up? Looks like he has nointention of running away. Better not, Cabot. Even though you're shielded, no telling whatpowers the little fella has. Play it safe and use the rope. I swear he knows what we're saying. Look at those eyes. All right, careful now with that line. Come on, baby. Here you go. That's a boy! <doc-sep>Purnie took in these sounds with perplexed concern. He sensed theimploring quality of the creature with the rope, but he didn't knowwhat he was supposed to do. He cocked his head to one side as hewiggled in anticipation. He saw the noose spinning down toward his head, and, before he knewit, he had scooted out of the circle and up the sandy beach. He wassurprised at himself for running away. Why had he done it? He wondered.Never before had he felt this fleeting twinge that made him want toprotect himself. He watched the animals huddle around the box on the beach, theirattention apparently diverted to something else. He wished now that hehad not run away; he felt he had lost his chance to join in their fun. Wait! He ran over to his half-eaten lunch, picked it up, and ran backinto the little crowd. I've got my lunch, want some? The party came to life once more. His friends ran this way and that,and at last Purnie knew that the idea was to get him into the box.He picked up the spirit of the tease, and deliberately ran within afew feet of the lead box, then, just as the nearest pursuer was aboutto push him in, he sidestepped onto safer ground. Then he heard adeafening roar and felt a warm, wet sting in one of his legs. Forbes, you fool! Put away that gun! There you are, boys. It's all in knowing how. Just winged him, that'sall. Now pick him up. The pang in his leg was nothing: Purnie's misery lay in his confusion.What had he done wrong? When he saw the noose spinning toward himagain, he involuntarily stopped time. He knew better than to use thispower carelessly, but his action now was reflex. In that split secondfollowing the sharp sting in his leg, his mind had grasped in alldirections to find an acceptable course of action. Finding none, it hadordered the stoppage of time. The scene around him became a tableau once more. The noose hungmotionless over his head while the rest of the rope snaked its way intransverse waves back to one of the two-legged animals. Purnie draggedhimself through the congregation, whimpering from his inability tounderstand. As he worked his way past one creature after another, he tried at firstto not look them in the eye, for he felt sure he had done somethingwrong. Then he thought that by sneaking a glance at them as he passed,he might see a sign pointing to their purpose. He limped by one who hadin his hand a small shiny object that had been emitting smoke from oneend; the smoke now billowed in lifeless curls about the animal's head.He hobbled by another who held a small box that had previously made ahissing sound whenever Purnie was near. These things told him nothing.Before starting his climb up the knoll, he passed a tripon which, trueto its reputation, was comical even in fright. Startled by the loudexplosion, it had jumped four feet into the air before Purnie hadstopped time. Now it hung there, its beak stuffed with seaweed and itsthree legs drawn up into a squatting position. Leaving the assorted statues behind, he limped his way up the knoll,torn between leaving and staying. What an odd place, this oceancountry! He wondered why he had not heard more detail about the beachanimals. Reaching the top of the bluff, he looked down upon his silent friendswith a feeling of deep sorrow. How he wished he were down there playingwith them. But he knew at last that theirs was a game he didn't fitinto. Now there was nothing left but to resume time and start thelong walk home. Even though the short day was nearly over, he knew hedidn't dare use time-stopping to get himself home in nothing flat. Hisfatigued body and clouded mind were strong signals that he had alreadyabused this faculty. <doc-sep>When Purnie started time again, the animal with the noose stood inopen-mouthed disbelief as the rope fell harmlessly to the sand—on thespot where Purnie had been standing. My God, he's—he's gone. Then another of the animals, the one with the smoking thing in hishand, ran a few steps toward the noose, stopped and gaped at the rope.All right, you people, what's going on here? Get him in that box. Whatdid you do with him? The resumption of time meant nothing at all to those on the beach, forto them time had never stopped. The only thing they could be sure ofwas that at one moment there had been a fuzzy creature hopping aroundin front of them, and the next moment he was gone. Is he invisible, Captain? Where is he? Up there, Captain! On those rocks. Isn't that him? Well, I'll be damned! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsible for this! Now thatyou've botched it up, I'll bring him down my own way. Just a minute, Forbes, let me think. There's something about thatfuzzy little devil that we should.... Forbes! I warned you about thatgun! Purnie moved across the top of the rockpile for a last look at hisfriends. His weight on the end of the first log started the slide.Slowly at first, the giant pencils began cascading down the shortdistance to the sand. Purnie fell back onto solid ground, horrified atthe spectacle before him. The agonizing screams of the animals belowfilled him with hysteria. The boulders caught most of them as they stood ankle-deep in the surf.Others were pinned down on the sand. I didn't mean it! Purnie screamed. I'm sorry! Can't you hear? Hehopped back and forth near the edge of the rise, torn with panic andshame. Get up! Please get up! He was horrified by the moans reachinghis ears from the beach. You're getting all wet! Did you hear me?Please get up. He was choked with rage and sorrow. How could he havedone this? He wanted his friends to get up and shake themselves off,tell him it was all right. But it was beyond his power to bring itabout. The lapping tide threatened to cover those in the orange surf. <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath. Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me? I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown! Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving? The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water— Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop. Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore. It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke. Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him. At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim. He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time. Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below. Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened. His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe. He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no urging time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand.... <doc-sep>His friends came to life. The first one he saw stir lay on his stomachand pounded his fists on the beach. A flood of relief settled overPurnie as sounds came from the animal. What's the matter with me? Somebody tell me! Am I nuts? Miles! Schick!What's happening? I'm coming, Rhodes! Heaven help us, man—I saw it, too. We're eithercrazy or those damn logs are alive! It's not the logs. How about us? How'd we get out of the water? Miles,we're both cracking. I'm telling you, man, it's the logs, or rocks or whatever they are.I was looking right at them. First they're on top of me, then they'repiled up over there! Damnit, the logs didn't pick us up out of the ocean, did they? CaptainBenson! Are you men all right? Yes sir, but— Who saw exactly what happened? I'm afraid we're not seeing right, Captain. Those logs— I know, I know. Now get hold of yourselves. We've got to round up theothers and get out of here while time is on our side. But what happened, Captain? Hell, Rhodes, don't you think I'd like to know? Those logs are so oldthey're petrified. The whole bunch of us couldn't lift one. It wouldtake super-human energy to move one of those things. I haven't seen anything super-human. Those ostriches down there are sobusy eating seaweed— All right, let's bear a hand here with the others. Some of them can'twalk. Where's Forbes? He's sitting down there in the water, Captain, crying like a baby. Orlaughing. I can't tell which. We'll have to get him. Miles, Schick, come along. Forbes! You allright? Ho-ho-ho! Seventeen! Seventeen! Seventeen planets, Benson, and they'lldo anything I say! This one's got a mind of its own. Did you see thatlittle trick with the rocks? Ho-ho! See if you can find his gun, Schick; he'll either kill himself or oneof us. Tie his hands and take him back to the ship. We'll be alongshortly. Hah-hah-hah! Seventeen! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsiblefor this. Hee-hee! <doc-sep>Purnie opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Had his friends gone? He pulled himself along on his stomach to a position between two rocks,where he could see without being seen. By the light of the twin moonshe saw that they were leaving, marching away in groups of two andthree, the weak helping the weaker. As they disappeared around thecurving shoreline, the voices of the last two, bringing up the rear farbehind the others, fell faintly on his ears over the sound of the surf. Is it possible that we're all crazy, Captain? It's possible, but we're not. I wish I could be sure. See Forbes up ahead there? What do you think of him? I still can't believe it. He'll never be the same. Tell me something. What was the most unusual thing you noticed backthere? You must be kidding, sir. Why, the way those logs were off of ussuddenly— Yes, of course. But I mean beside that. Well, I guess I was kind of busy. You know, scared and mixed up. But didn't you notice our little pop-eyed friend? Oh, him. I'm afraid not, Captain. I—I guess I was thinking mostly ofmyself. Hmmm. If I could only be sure I saw him. If only someone else saw himtoo. I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir. Well, damn it all, you know that Forbes took a pot shot at him. Gothim in the leg. That being the case, why would the fuzzy little devilcome back to his tormentors—back to us—when we were trapped underthose logs? Well, I guess as long as we were trapped, he figured we couldn't dohim any more harm.... I'm sorry, that was a stupid answer. I guess I'mstill a little shaky. Forget it. Look, you go ahead to the ship and make ready for take-off.I'll join you in a few minutes. I think I'll go back and look around.You know. Make sure we haven't left anyone. No need to do that. They're all ahead of us. I've checked. That's my responsibility, Cabot, not yours. Now go on. <doc-sep>As Purnie lay gathering strength for the long trek home, he saw throughglazed eyes one of the animals coming back along the beach. When it wasnearly directly below him, he could hear it making sounds that by nowhad become familiar. Where are you? Purnie paid little attention to the antics of his friend; he wasbeyond understanding. He wondered what they would say at home when hereturned. We've made a terrible mistake. We— The sounds faded in and out onPurnie's ears as the creature turned slowly and called in differentdirections. He watched the animal walk over to the pile of scatteredlogs and peer around and under them. If you're hurt I'd like to help! The twin moons were high in the skynow, and where their light broke through the swirling clouds a doubleshadow was cast around the animal. With foggy awareness, Purnie watchedthe creature shake its head slowly, then walk away in the direction ofthe others. Purnie's eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. Thebeach was deserted now, and his gaze was transfixed on a shimmeringwhite square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnieever saw, was emblazoned the word FORBES. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe Forbes' relationship with Benson.

Forbes is the head of the expedition to claim planets, and Benson is the Captain of the crew. Forbes provides all of the money to make the trips possible, and he pays Benson’s and the other mens’ salaries. Captain Benson is responsible for keeping all of the men safe and making sure the trip goes smoothly. Although Forbes is Benson’s superior, Benson does feel the need to speak his mind to Forbes. When Forbes demands that Benson’s crew stop dawdling and hurry up and put his FORBES flag up, Benson tells Forbes that they are only humans. Of course they are interested in the new environment and want to take a moment to look around. He is not afraid to tell Forbes that capturing Purnie or injuring him is against Universal Laws. Benson does not want to take part in illegal activities, and he scoffs at Forbes’ remarks that he is a pioneer and not a real estate developer. He openly tells Forbes that he knows he will triple his money after claiming these planets, so it’s not like he’s doing it for the greater good of humanity. Benson also asks Forbes if he’s going to take his 17 new planets back home with him to San Diego. It’s clear that Benson has little respect for Forbes and the way he conducts his business, but at the same time, he needs a job and Forbes is providing him with an incredible opportunity to survey all sorts of different planets.Benson has to face Forbes’ wrath when Purnie goes missing after Forbes shoots him and they attempt to put a noose around his neck. After Purnie unfreezes time, the men are confused as to what they just saw. Forbes turns to Benson and tells him that he is holding him responsible for this mishap even though there is zero evidence that Benson did anything wrong.After the logs fall on the men and Purnie uses all of his remaining strength to save their lives, Forbes is completely out of his mind. Benson finds it a bit humorous, especially since he has an inkling that Purnie, the bug-eyed creature, was behind the whole thing. He does not respect Forbes and thinks his disconnect to reality and repetitive laughter is what he deserves for the way he treated Purnie, himself, and the crew.

Describe the setting of the story. [SEP] <s> BEACH SCENE By MARSHALL KING Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was a fine day at the beach for Purnie's game—but his new friends played very rough! Purnie ran laughing and shouting through the forest until he could runno more. He fell headlong into a patch of blue moss and whooped withdelight in having this day free for exploring. He was free to see theocean at last. When he had caught his breath, he looked back through the forest. Nosign of the village; he had left it far behind. Safe from the scrutinyof brothers and parents, there was nothing now to stop him from goingto the ocean. This was the moment to stop time. On your mark! he shouted to the rippling stream and its orangewhirlpools. He glanced furtively from side to side, pretending thatsome object might try to get a head start. Get set! he challengedthe thin-winged bees that hovered over the abundant foliage. Stop!He shrieked this command upward toward the dense, low-hanging purpleclouds that perennially raced across the treetops, making one wonderhow tall the trees really were. His eyes took quick inventory. It was exactly as he knew it would be:the milky-orange stream had become motionless and its minute whirlpoolshad stopped whirling; a nearby bee hung suspended over a paka plant,its transparent wings frozen in position for a downward stroke; and theheavy purple fluid overhead held fast in its manufacture of whorls andnimbi. With everything around him in a state of perfect tableau, Purniehurried toward the ocean. If only the days weren't so short! he thought. There was so much tosee and so little time. It seemed that everyone except him had seenthe wonders of the beach country. The stories he had heard from hisbrothers and their friends had taunted him for as long as he couldremember. So many times had he heard these thrilling tales that now,as he ran along, he could clearly picture the wonderland as though hewere already there. There would be a rockslide of petrified logs toplay on, the ocean itself with waves higher than a house, the comicalthree-legged tripons who never stopped munching on seaweed, and manykinds of other wonderful creatures found only at the ocean. He bounced through the forest as though the world was reserved thisday just for him. And who could say it wasn't? he thought. Wasn't thishis fifth birthday? He ran along feeling sorry for four-year-olds, andeven for those who were only four and a half, for they were babies andwouldn't dare try slipping away to the ocean alone. But five! I'll set you free, Mr. Bee—just wait and see! As he passed one ofthe many motionless pollen-gathering insects he met on the way, he tookcare not to brush against it or disturb its interrupted task. WhenPurnie had stopped time, the bees—like all the other creatures hemet—had been arrested in their native activities, and he knew that assoon as he resumed time, everything would pick up where it had left off. <doc-sep>When he smelled an acid sweetness that told him the ocean was not faroff, his pulse quickened in anticipation. Rather than spoil what wasclearly going to be a perfect day, he chose to ignore the fact that hehad been forbidden to use time-stopping as a convenience for journeyingfar from home. He chose to ignore the oft-repeated statement that anhour of time-stopping consumed more energy than a week of foot-racing.He chose to ignore the negative maxim that small children who stoptime without an adult being present, may not live to regret it. He chose, instead, to picture the beaming praise of family and friendswhen they learned of his brave journey. The journey was long, the clock stood still. He stopped long enough togather some fruit that grew along the path. It would serve as his lunchduring this day of promise. With it under his arm he bounded along adozen more steps, then stopped abruptly in his tracks. He found himself atop a rocky knoll, overlooking the mighty sea! He was so overpowered by the vista before him that his Hurrah! cameout as a weak squeak. The ocean lay at the ready, its stilled wavesawaiting his command to resume their tidal sweep. The breakers alongthe shoreline hung in varying stages of disarray, some having alreadyexploded into towering white spray while others were poised in smoothorange curls waiting to start that action. And there were new friends everywhere! Overhead, a flock of spora werefrozen in a steep glide, preparatory to a beach landing. Purnie hadheard of these playful creatures many times. Today, with his brothersin school, he would have the pets all to himself. Further down thebeach was a pair of two-legged animals poised in mid-step, facingthe spot where Purnie now stood. Some distance behind them were eightmore, each of whom were motionless in a curious pose of interruptedanimation. And down in the water, where the ocean ran itself into thinnothingness upon the sand, he saw standing here and there the comicaltripons, those three-legged marine buffoons who made handsome careersof munching seaweed. Hi there! Purnie called. When he got no reaction, he remembered thathe himself was dead to the living world: he was still in a zone oftime-stopping, on the inside looking out. For him, the world wouldcontinue to be a tableau of mannikins until he resumed time. <doc-sep>Hi there! he called again; but now his mental attitude was that heexpected time to resume. It did! Immediately he was surrounded byactivity. He heard the roar of the crashing orange breakers, he tastedthe dew of acid that floated from the spray, and he saw his new friendscontinue the actions which he had stopped while back in the forest. He knew, too, that at this moment, in the forest, the little brookpicked up its flow where it had left off, the purple clouds resumedtheir leeward journey up the valley, and the bees continued theirpollen-gathering without having missed a single stroke of theirdelicate wings. The brook, the clouds, and the insects had not beeninterrupted in the least; their respective tasks had been performedwith continuing sureness. It was time itself that Purnie had stopped,not the world around him. He scampered around the rockpile and down the sandy cliff to meet thetripons who, to him, had just come to life. I can stand on my head! He set down his lunch and balanced himselfbottoms-up while his legs pawed the air in an effort to hold him inposition. He knew it was probably the worst head-stand he had everdone, for he felt weak and dizzy. Already time-stopping had left itsmark on his strength. But his spirits ran on unchecked. The tripon thought Purnie's feat was superb. It stopped munching longenough to give him a salutory wag of its rump before returning to itsrepast. Purnie ran from pillar to post, trying to see and do everything atonce. He looked around to greet the flock of spora, but they had glidedto a spot further along the shore. Then, bouncing up to the first ofthe two-legged animals, he started to burst forth with his habitual Hithere! when he heard them making sounds of their own. ... will be no limit to my operations now, Benson. This planet makesseventeen. Seventeen planets I can claim as my own! My, my. Seventeen planets. And tell me, Forbes, just what the hell areyou going to do with them—mount them on the wall of your den back inSan Diego? Hi there, wanna play? Purnie's invitation got nothing more thanstartled glance from the animals who quickly returned to their chatter.He scampered up the beach, picked up his lunch, and ran back to them,tagging along at their heels. I've got my lunch, want some? Benson, you'd better tell your men back there to stop gawking atthe scenery and get to work. Time is money. I didn't pay for thisexpedition just to give your flunkies a vacation. <doc-sep>The animals stopped so suddenly that Purnie nearly tangled himself intheir heels. All right, Forbes, just hold it a minute. Listen to me. Sure, it'syour money that put us here; it's your expedition all the way. But youhired me to get you here with the best crew on earth, and that's justwhat I've done. My job isn't over yet. I'm responsible for the safetyof the men while we're here, and for the safe trip home. Precisely. And since you're responsible, get 'em working. Tell 'em tobring along the flag. Look at the damn fools back there, playing in theocean with a three-legged ostrich! Good God, man, aren't you human? We've only been on this planet twentyminutes! Naturally they want to look around. They half expected to findwild animals or worse, and here we are surrounded by quaint littlecreatures that run up to us like we're long-lost brothers. Let the menlook around a minute or two before we stake out your claim. Bah! Bunch of damn children. As Purnie followed along, a leg shot out at him and missed. Benson,will you get this bug-eyed kangaroo away from me! Purnie shrieked withjoy at this new frolic and promptly stood on his head. In this positionhe got an upside down view of them walking away. He gave up trying to stay with them. Why did they move so fast, anyway?What was the hurry? As he sat down and began eating his lunch, threemore of the creatures came along making excited noises, apparentlytrying to catch up to the first two. As they passed him, he held outhis lunch. Want some? No response. Playing held more promise than eating. He left his lunch half eaten andwent down to where they had stopped further along the beach. Captain Benson, sir! Miles has detected strong radiation in thevicinity. He's trying to locate it now. There you are, Forbes. Your new piece of real estate is going to makeyou so rich that you can buy your next planet. That'll make eighteen, Ibelieve. Radiation, bah! We've found low-grade ore on every planet I'vediscovered so far, and this one'll be no different. Now how about thatflag? Let's get it up, Benson. And the cornerstone, and the plaque. All right, lads. The sooner we get Mr. Forbes's pennant raised and hisclaim staked out, the sooner we can take time to look around. Livelynow! <doc-sep>When the three animals went back to join the rest of their group, thefirst two resumed walking. Purnie followed along. Well, Benson, you won't have to look far for materials to use for thebase of the flag pole. Look at that rockpile up there. Can't use them. They're petrified logs. The ones on top are too highto carry down, and if we move those on the bottom, the whole works willslide down on top of us. Well—that's your problem. Just remember, I want this flag pole to besolid. It's got to stand at least— Don't worry, Forbes, we'll get your monument erected. What's this withthe flag? There must be more to staking a claim than just putting up aflag. There is, there is. Much more. I've taken care of all requirements setdown by law to make my claim. But the flag? Well, you might say itrepresents an empire, Benson. The Forbes Empire. On each of my flagsis the word FORBES, a symbol of development and progress. Call itsentiment if you will. Don't worry, I won't. I've seen real-estate flags before. Damn it all, will you stop referring to this as a real-estate deal?What I'm doing is big, man. Big! This is pioneering. Of course. And if I'm not mistaken, you've set up a neat little escrowsystem so that you not only own the planets, but you will virtually ownthe people who are foolish enough to buy land on them. I could have your hide for talking to me like this. Damn you, man!It's people like me who pay your way. It's people like me who give yourspace ships some place to go. It's people like me who pour good moneyinto a chancey job like this, so that people like you can get away fromthirteen-story tenement houses. Did you ever think of that? I imagine you'll triple your money in six months. When they stopped, Purnie stopped. At first he had been interested inthe strange sounds they were making, but as he grew used to them, andas they in turn ignored his presence, he hopped alongside chattering tohimself, content to be in their company. He heard more of these sounds coming from behind, and he turned to seethe remainder of the group running toward them. Captain Benson! Here's the flag, sir. And here's Miles with thescintillometer. He says the radiation's getting stronger over this way! How about that, Miles? This thing's going wild, Captain. It's almost off scale. <doc-sep>Purnie saw one of the animals hovering around him with a little box.Thankful for the attention, he stood on his head. Can you do this?He was overjoyed at the reaction. They all started making wonderfulnoises, and he felt most satisfied. Stand back, Captain! Here's the source right here! This littlechuck-walla's hotter than a plutonium pile! Let me see that, Miles. Well, I'll be damned! Now what do yousuppose— By now they had formed a widening circle around him, and he was hardput to think of an encore. He gambled on trying a brand new trick: hestood on one leg. Benson, I must have that animal! Put him in a box. Now wait a minute, Forbes. Universal Law forbids— This is my planet and I am the law. Put him in a box! With my crew as witness, I officially protest— Good God, what a specimen to take back. Radio-active animals! Why,they can reproduce themselves, of course! There must be thousands ofthese creatures around here someplace. And to think of those damn foolson Earth with their plutonium piles! Hah! Now I'll have investors flocking to me. How about it, Benson—does pioneering pay off ordoesn't it? Not so fast. Since this little fellow is radioactive, there may begreat danger to the crew— Now look here! You had planned to put mineral specimens in a leadbox, so what's the difference? Put him in a box. He'll die. I have you under contract, Benson! You are responsible to me, andwhat's more, you are on my property. Put him in a box. Purnie was tired. First the time-stopping, then this. While this dayhad brought more fun and excitement than he could have hoped for,the strain was beginning to tell. He lay in the center of the circlehappily exhausted, hoping that his friends would show him some of theirown tricks. He didn't have to wait long. The animals forming the circle steppedback and made way for two others who came through carrying a box.Purnie sat up to watch the show. Hell, Captain, why don't I just pick him up? Looks like he has nointention of running away. Better not, Cabot. Even though you're shielded, no telling whatpowers the little fella has. Play it safe and use the rope. I swear he knows what we're saying. Look at those eyes. All right, careful now with that line. Come on, baby. Here you go. That's a boy! <doc-sep>Purnie took in these sounds with perplexed concern. He sensed theimploring quality of the creature with the rope, but he didn't knowwhat he was supposed to do. He cocked his head to one side as hewiggled in anticipation. He saw the noose spinning down toward his head, and, before he knewit, he had scooted out of the circle and up the sandy beach. He wassurprised at himself for running away. Why had he done it? He wondered.Never before had he felt this fleeting twinge that made him want toprotect himself. He watched the animals huddle around the box on the beach, theirattention apparently diverted to something else. He wished now that hehad not run away; he felt he had lost his chance to join in their fun. Wait! He ran over to his half-eaten lunch, picked it up, and ran backinto the little crowd. I've got my lunch, want some? The party came to life once more. His friends ran this way and that,and at last Purnie knew that the idea was to get him into the box.He picked up the spirit of the tease, and deliberately ran within afew feet of the lead box, then, just as the nearest pursuer was aboutto push him in, he sidestepped onto safer ground. Then he heard adeafening roar and felt a warm, wet sting in one of his legs. Forbes, you fool! Put away that gun! There you are, boys. It's all in knowing how. Just winged him, that'sall. Now pick him up. The pang in his leg was nothing: Purnie's misery lay in his confusion.What had he done wrong? When he saw the noose spinning toward himagain, he involuntarily stopped time. He knew better than to use thispower carelessly, but his action now was reflex. In that split secondfollowing the sharp sting in his leg, his mind had grasped in alldirections to find an acceptable course of action. Finding none, it hadordered the stoppage of time. The scene around him became a tableau once more. The noose hungmotionless over his head while the rest of the rope snaked its way intransverse waves back to one of the two-legged animals. Purnie draggedhimself through the congregation, whimpering from his inability tounderstand. As he worked his way past one creature after another, he tried at firstto not look them in the eye, for he felt sure he had done somethingwrong. Then he thought that by sneaking a glance at them as he passed,he might see a sign pointing to their purpose. He limped by one who hadin his hand a small shiny object that had been emitting smoke from oneend; the smoke now billowed in lifeless curls about the animal's head.He hobbled by another who held a small box that had previously made ahissing sound whenever Purnie was near. These things told him nothing.Before starting his climb up the knoll, he passed a tripon which, trueto its reputation, was comical even in fright. Startled by the loudexplosion, it had jumped four feet into the air before Purnie hadstopped time. Now it hung there, its beak stuffed with seaweed and itsthree legs drawn up into a squatting position. Leaving the assorted statues behind, he limped his way up the knoll,torn between leaving and staying. What an odd place, this oceancountry! He wondered why he had not heard more detail about the beachanimals. Reaching the top of the bluff, he looked down upon his silent friendswith a feeling of deep sorrow. How he wished he were down there playingwith them. But he knew at last that theirs was a game he didn't fitinto. Now there was nothing left but to resume time and start thelong walk home. Even though the short day was nearly over, he knew hedidn't dare use time-stopping to get himself home in nothing flat. Hisfatigued body and clouded mind were strong signals that he had alreadyabused this faculty. <doc-sep>When Purnie started time again, the animal with the noose stood inopen-mouthed disbelief as the rope fell harmlessly to the sand—on thespot where Purnie had been standing. My God, he's—he's gone. Then another of the animals, the one with the smoking thing in hishand, ran a few steps toward the noose, stopped and gaped at the rope.All right, you people, what's going on here? Get him in that box. Whatdid you do with him? The resumption of time meant nothing at all to those on the beach, forto them time had never stopped. The only thing they could be sure ofwas that at one moment there had been a fuzzy creature hopping aroundin front of them, and the next moment he was gone. Is he invisible, Captain? Where is he? Up there, Captain! On those rocks. Isn't that him? Well, I'll be damned! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsible for this! Now thatyou've botched it up, I'll bring him down my own way. Just a minute, Forbes, let me think. There's something about thatfuzzy little devil that we should.... Forbes! I warned you about thatgun! Purnie moved across the top of the rockpile for a last look at hisfriends. His weight on the end of the first log started the slide.Slowly at first, the giant pencils began cascading down the shortdistance to the sand. Purnie fell back onto solid ground, horrified atthe spectacle before him. The agonizing screams of the animals belowfilled him with hysteria. The boulders caught most of them as they stood ankle-deep in the surf.Others were pinned down on the sand. I didn't mean it! Purnie screamed. I'm sorry! Can't you hear? Hehopped back and forth near the edge of the rise, torn with panic andshame. Get up! Please get up! He was horrified by the moans reachinghis ears from the beach. You're getting all wet! Did you hear me?Please get up. He was choked with rage and sorrow. How could he havedone this? He wanted his friends to get up and shake themselves off,tell him it was all right. But it was beyond his power to bring itabout. The lapping tide threatened to cover those in the orange surf. <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath. Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me? I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown! Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving? The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water— Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop. Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore. It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke. Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him. At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim. He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time. Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below. Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened. His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe. He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no urging time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand.... <doc-sep>His friends came to life. The first one he saw stir lay on his stomachand pounded his fists on the beach. A flood of relief settled overPurnie as sounds came from the animal. What's the matter with me? Somebody tell me! Am I nuts? Miles! Schick!What's happening? I'm coming, Rhodes! Heaven help us, man—I saw it, too. We're eithercrazy or those damn logs are alive! It's not the logs. How about us? How'd we get out of the water? Miles,we're both cracking. I'm telling you, man, it's the logs, or rocks or whatever they are.I was looking right at them. First they're on top of me, then they'repiled up over there! Damnit, the logs didn't pick us up out of the ocean, did they? CaptainBenson! Are you men all right? Yes sir, but— Who saw exactly what happened? I'm afraid we're not seeing right, Captain. Those logs— I know, I know. Now get hold of yourselves. We've got to round up theothers and get out of here while time is on our side. But what happened, Captain? Hell, Rhodes, don't you think I'd like to know? Those logs are so oldthey're petrified. The whole bunch of us couldn't lift one. It wouldtake super-human energy to move one of those things. I haven't seen anything super-human. Those ostriches down there are sobusy eating seaweed— All right, let's bear a hand here with the others. Some of them can'twalk. Where's Forbes? He's sitting down there in the water, Captain, crying like a baby. Orlaughing. I can't tell which. We'll have to get him. Miles, Schick, come along. Forbes! You allright? Ho-ho-ho! Seventeen! Seventeen! Seventeen planets, Benson, and they'lldo anything I say! This one's got a mind of its own. Did you see thatlittle trick with the rocks? Ho-ho! See if you can find his gun, Schick; he'll either kill himself or oneof us. Tie his hands and take him back to the ship. We'll be alongshortly. Hah-hah-hah! Seventeen! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsiblefor this. Hee-hee! <doc-sep>Purnie opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Had his friends gone? He pulled himself along on his stomach to a position between two rocks,where he could see without being seen. By the light of the twin moonshe saw that they were leaving, marching away in groups of two andthree, the weak helping the weaker. As they disappeared around thecurving shoreline, the voices of the last two, bringing up the rear farbehind the others, fell faintly on his ears over the sound of the surf. Is it possible that we're all crazy, Captain? It's possible, but we're not. I wish I could be sure. See Forbes up ahead there? What do you think of him? I still can't believe it. He'll never be the same. Tell me something. What was the most unusual thing you noticed backthere? You must be kidding, sir. Why, the way those logs were off of ussuddenly— Yes, of course. But I mean beside that. Well, I guess I was kind of busy. You know, scared and mixed up. But didn't you notice our little pop-eyed friend? Oh, him. I'm afraid not, Captain. I—I guess I was thinking mostly ofmyself. Hmmm. If I could only be sure I saw him. If only someone else saw himtoo. I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir. Well, damn it all, you know that Forbes took a pot shot at him. Gothim in the leg. That being the case, why would the fuzzy little devilcome back to his tormentors—back to us—when we were trapped underthose logs? Well, I guess as long as we were trapped, he figured we couldn't dohim any more harm.... I'm sorry, that was a stupid answer. I guess I'mstill a little shaky. Forget it. Look, you go ahead to the ship and make ready for take-off.I'll join you in a few minutes. I think I'll go back and look around.You know. Make sure we haven't left anyone. No need to do that. They're all ahead of us. I've checked. That's my responsibility, Cabot, not yours. Now go on. <doc-sep>As Purnie lay gathering strength for the long trek home, he saw throughglazed eyes one of the animals coming back along the beach. When it wasnearly directly below him, he could hear it making sounds that by nowhad become familiar. Where are you? Purnie paid little attention to the antics of his friend; he wasbeyond understanding. He wondered what they would say at home when hereturned. We've made a terrible mistake. We— The sounds faded in and out onPurnie's ears as the creature turned slowly and called in differentdirections. He watched the animal walk over to the pile of scatteredlogs and peer around and under them. If you're hurt I'd like to help! The twin moons were high in the skynow, and where their light broke through the swirling clouds a doubleshadow was cast around the animal. With foggy awareness, Purnie watchedthe creature shake its head slowly, then walk away in the direction ofthe others. Purnie's eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. Thebeach was deserted now, and his gaze was transfixed on a shimmeringwhite square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnieever saw, was emblazoned the word FORBES. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story.

The unnamed planet where the story takes place is breathtaking, colorful, and lively with all sorts of fauna and flora unknown to Earth. There is blue moss on the forest floors, bubbling streams, and orange pools of water. There are also bees, purple clouds, petrified logs by the ocean, and three-legged animals who eat seaweed. The orange ocean waves crash against the sand, and two moons hover in the sky. Humans have never touched this land, so Purnie is surprised that he has never heard his brothers or parents talk about the two-legged animals who make strange sounds. He does not understand that they have just landed their ship here and are experiencing the land for the first time.

What is Purnie's role in the story? [SEP] <s> BEACH SCENE By MARSHALL KING Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was a fine day at the beach for Purnie's game—but his new friends played very rough! Purnie ran laughing and shouting through the forest until he could runno more. He fell headlong into a patch of blue moss and whooped withdelight in having this day free for exploring. He was free to see theocean at last. When he had caught his breath, he looked back through the forest. Nosign of the village; he had left it far behind. Safe from the scrutinyof brothers and parents, there was nothing now to stop him from goingto the ocean. This was the moment to stop time. On your mark! he shouted to the rippling stream and its orangewhirlpools. He glanced furtively from side to side, pretending thatsome object might try to get a head start. Get set! he challengedthe thin-winged bees that hovered over the abundant foliage. Stop!He shrieked this command upward toward the dense, low-hanging purpleclouds that perennially raced across the treetops, making one wonderhow tall the trees really were. His eyes took quick inventory. It was exactly as he knew it would be:the milky-orange stream had become motionless and its minute whirlpoolshad stopped whirling; a nearby bee hung suspended over a paka plant,its transparent wings frozen in position for a downward stroke; and theheavy purple fluid overhead held fast in its manufacture of whorls andnimbi. With everything around him in a state of perfect tableau, Purniehurried toward the ocean. If only the days weren't so short! he thought. There was so much tosee and so little time. It seemed that everyone except him had seenthe wonders of the beach country. The stories he had heard from hisbrothers and their friends had taunted him for as long as he couldremember. So many times had he heard these thrilling tales that now,as he ran along, he could clearly picture the wonderland as though hewere already there. There would be a rockslide of petrified logs toplay on, the ocean itself with waves higher than a house, the comicalthree-legged tripons who never stopped munching on seaweed, and manykinds of other wonderful creatures found only at the ocean. He bounced through the forest as though the world was reserved thisday just for him. And who could say it wasn't? he thought. Wasn't thishis fifth birthday? He ran along feeling sorry for four-year-olds, andeven for those who were only four and a half, for they were babies andwouldn't dare try slipping away to the ocean alone. But five! I'll set you free, Mr. Bee—just wait and see! As he passed one ofthe many motionless pollen-gathering insects he met on the way, he tookcare not to brush against it or disturb its interrupted task. WhenPurnie had stopped time, the bees—like all the other creatures hemet—had been arrested in their native activities, and he knew that assoon as he resumed time, everything would pick up where it had left off. <doc-sep>When he smelled an acid sweetness that told him the ocean was not faroff, his pulse quickened in anticipation. Rather than spoil what wasclearly going to be a perfect day, he chose to ignore the fact that hehad been forbidden to use time-stopping as a convenience for journeyingfar from home. He chose to ignore the oft-repeated statement that anhour of time-stopping consumed more energy than a week of foot-racing.He chose to ignore the negative maxim that small children who stoptime without an adult being present, may not live to regret it. He chose, instead, to picture the beaming praise of family and friendswhen they learned of his brave journey. The journey was long, the clock stood still. He stopped long enough togather some fruit that grew along the path. It would serve as his lunchduring this day of promise. With it under his arm he bounded along adozen more steps, then stopped abruptly in his tracks. He found himself atop a rocky knoll, overlooking the mighty sea! He was so overpowered by the vista before him that his Hurrah! cameout as a weak squeak. The ocean lay at the ready, its stilled wavesawaiting his command to resume their tidal sweep. The breakers alongthe shoreline hung in varying stages of disarray, some having alreadyexploded into towering white spray while others were poised in smoothorange curls waiting to start that action. And there were new friends everywhere! Overhead, a flock of spora werefrozen in a steep glide, preparatory to a beach landing. Purnie hadheard of these playful creatures many times. Today, with his brothersin school, he would have the pets all to himself. Further down thebeach was a pair of two-legged animals poised in mid-step, facingthe spot where Purnie now stood. Some distance behind them were eightmore, each of whom were motionless in a curious pose of interruptedanimation. And down in the water, where the ocean ran itself into thinnothingness upon the sand, he saw standing here and there the comicaltripons, those three-legged marine buffoons who made handsome careersof munching seaweed. Hi there! Purnie called. When he got no reaction, he remembered thathe himself was dead to the living world: he was still in a zone oftime-stopping, on the inside looking out. For him, the world wouldcontinue to be a tableau of mannikins until he resumed time. <doc-sep>Hi there! he called again; but now his mental attitude was that heexpected time to resume. It did! Immediately he was surrounded byactivity. He heard the roar of the crashing orange breakers, he tastedthe dew of acid that floated from the spray, and he saw his new friendscontinue the actions which he had stopped while back in the forest. He knew, too, that at this moment, in the forest, the little brookpicked up its flow where it had left off, the purple clouds resumedtheir leeward journey up the valley, and the bees continued theirpollen-gathering without having missed a single stroke of theirdelicate wings. The brook, the clouds, and the insects had not beeninterrupted in the least; their respective tasks had been performedwith continuing sureness. It was time itself that Purnie had stopped,not the world around him. He scampered around the rockpile and down the sandy cliff to meet thetripons who, to him, had just come to life. I can stand on my head! He set down his lunch and balanced himselfbottoms-up while his legs pawed the air in an effort to hold him inposition. He knew it was probably the worst head-stand he had everdone, for he felt weak and dizzy. Already time-stopping had left itsmark on his strength. But his spirits ran on unchecked. The tripon thought Purnie's feat was superb. It stopped munching longenough to give him a salutory wag of its rump before returning to itsrepast. Purnie ran from pillar to post, trying to see and do everything atonce. He looked around to greet the flock of spora, but they had glidedto a spot further along the shore. Then, bouncing up to the first ofthe two-legged animals, he started to burst forth with his habitual Hithere! when he heard them making sounds of their own. ... will be no limit to my operations now, Benson. This planet makesseventeen. Seventeen planets I can claim as my own! My, my. Seventeen planets. And tell me, Forbes, just what the hell areyou going to do with them—mount them on the wall of your den back inSan Diego? Hi there, wanna play? Purnie's invitation got nothing more thanstartled glance from the animals who quickly returned to their chatter.He scampered up the beach, picked up his lunch, and ran back to them,tagging along at their heels. I've got my lunch, want some? Benson, you'd better tell your men back there to stop gawking atthe scenery and get to work. Time is money. I didn't pay for thisexpedition just to give your flunkies a vacation. <doc-sep>The animals stopped so suddenly that Purnie nearly tangled himself intheir heels. All right, Forbes, just hold it a minute. Listen to me. Sure, it'syour money that put us here; it's your expedition all the way. But youhired me to get you here with the best crew on earth, and that's justwhat I've done. My job isn't over yet. I'm responsible for the safetyof the men while we're here, and for the safe trip home. Precisely. And since you're responsible, get 'em working. Tell 'em tobring along the flag. Look at the damn fools back there, playing in theocean with a three-legged ostrich! Good God, man, aren't you human? We've only been on this planet twentyminutes! Naturally they want to look around. They half expected to findwild animals or worse, and here we are surrounded by quaint littlecreatures that run up to us like we're long-lost brothers. Let the menlook around a minute or two before we stake out your claim. Bah! Bunch of damn children. As Purnie followed along, a leg shot out at him and missed. Benson,will you get this bug-eyed kangaroo away from me! Purnie shrieked withjoy at this new frolic and promptly stood on his head. In this positionhe got an upside down view of them walking away. He gave up trying to stay with them. Why did they move so fast, anyway?What was the hurry? As he sat down and began eating his lunch, threemore of the creatures came along making excited noises, apparentlytrying to catch up to the first two. As they passed him, he held outhis lunch. Want some? No response. Playing held more promise than eating. He left his lunch half eaten andwent down to where they had stopped further along the beach. Captain Benson, sir! Miles has detected strong radiation in thevicinity. He's trying to locate it now. There you are, Forbes. Your new piece of real estate is going to makeyou so rich that you can buy your next planet. That'll make eighteen, Ibelieve. Radiation, bah! We've found low-grade ore on every planet I'vediscovered so far, and this one'll be no different. Now how about thatflag? Let's get it up, Benson. And the cornerstone, and the plaque. All right, lads. The sooner we get Mr. Forbes's pennant raised and hisclaim staked out, the sooner we can take time to look around. Livelynow! <doc-sep>When the three animals went back to join the rest of their group, thefirst two resumed walking. Purnie followed along. Well, Benson, you won't have to look far for materials to use for thebase of the flag pole. Look at that rockpile up there. Can't use them. They're petrified logs. The ones on top are too highto carry down, and if we move those on the bottom, the whole works willslide down on top of us. Well—that's your problem. Just remember, I want this flag pole to besolid. It's got to stand at least— Don't worry, Forbes, we'll get your monument erected. What's this withthe flag? There must be more to staking a claim than just putting up aflag. There is, there is. Much more. I've taken care of all requirements setdown by law to make my claim. But the flag? Well, you might say itrepresents an empire, Benson. The Forbes Empire. On each of my flagsis the word FORBES, a symbol of development and progress. Call itsentiment if you will. Don't worry, I won't. I've seen real-estate flags before. Damn it all, will you stop referring to this as a real-estate deal?What I'm doing is big, man. Big! This is pioneering. Of course. And if I'm not mistaken, you've set up a neat little escrowsystem so that you not only own the planets, but you will virtually ownthe people who are foolish enough to buy land on them. I could have your hide for talking to me like this. Damn you, man!It's people like me who pay your way. It's people like me who give yourspace ships some place to go. It's people like me who pour good moneyinto a chancey job like this, so that people like you can get away fromthirteen-story tenement houses. Did you ever think of that? I imagine you'll triple your money in six months. When they stopped, Purnie stopped. At first he had been interested inthe strange sounds they were making, but as he grew used to them, andas they in turn ignored his presence, he hopped alongside chattering tohimself, content to be in their company. He heard more of these sounds coming from behind, and he turned to seethe remainder of the group running toward them. Captain Benson! Here's the flag, sir. And here's Miles with thescintillometer. He says the radiation's getting stronger over this way! How about that, Miles? This thing's going wild, Captain. It's almost off scale. <doc-sep>Purnie saw one of the animals hovering around him with a little box.Thankful for the attention, he stood on his head. Can you do this?He was overjoyed at the reaction. They all started making wonderfulnoises, and he felt most satisfied. Stand back, Captain! Here's the source right here! This littlechuck-walla's hotter than a plutonium pile! Let me see that, Miles. Well, I'll be damned! Now what do yousuppose— By now they had formed a widening circle around him, and he was hardput to think of an encore. He gambled on trying a brand new trick: hestood on one leg. Benson, I must have that animal! Put him in a box. Now wait a minute, Forbes. Universal Law forbids— This is my planet and I am the law. Put him in a box! With my crew as witness, I officially protest— Good God, what a specimen to take back. Radio-active animals! Why,they can reproduce themselves, of course! There must be thousands ofthese creatures around here someplace. And to think of those damn foolson Earth with their plutonium piles! Hah! Now I'll have investors flocking to me. How about it, Benson—does pioneering pay off ordoesn't it? Not so fast. Since this little fellow is radioactive, there may begreat danger to the crew— Now look here! You had planned to put mineral specimens in a leadbox, so what's the difference? Put him in a box. He'll die. I have you under contract, Benson! You are responsible to me, andwhat's more, you are on my property. Put him in a box. Purnie was tired. First the time-stopping, then this. While this dayhad brought more fun and excitement than he could have hoped for,the strain was beginning to tell. He lay in the center of the circlehappily exhausted, hoping that his friends would show him some of theirown tricks. He didn't have to wait long. The animals forming the circle steppedback and made way for two others who came through carrying a box.Purnie sat up to watch the show. Hell, Captain, why don't I just pick him up? Looks like he has nointention of running away. Better not, Cabot. Even though you're shielded, no telling whatpowers the little fella has. Play it safe and use the rope. I swear he knows what we're saying. Look at those eyes. All right, careful now with that line. Come on, baby. Here you go. That's a boy! <doc-sep>Purnie took in these sounds with perplexed concern. He sensed theimploring quality of the creature with the rope, but he didn't knowwhat he was supposed to do. He cocked his head to one side as hewiggled in anticipation. He saw the noose spinning down toward his head, and, before he knewit, he had scooted out of the circle and up the sandy beach. He wassurprised at himself for running away. Why had he done it? He wondered.Never before had he felt this fleeting twinge that made him want toprotect himself. He watched the animals huddle around the box on the beach, theirattention apparently diverted to something else. He wished now that hehad not run away; he felt he had lost his chance to join in their fun. Wait! He ran over to his half-eaten lunch, picked it up, and ran backinto the little crowd. I've got my lunch, want some? The party came to life once more. His friends ran this way and that,and at last Purnie knew that the idea was to get him into the box.He picked up the spirit of the tease, and deliberately ran within afew feet of the lead box, then, just as the nearest pursuer was aboutto push him in, he sidestepped onto safer ground. Then he heard adeafening roar and felt a warm, wet sting in one of his legs. Forbes, you fool! Put away that gun! There you are, boys. It's all in knowing how. Just winged him, that'sall. Now pick him up. The pang in his leg was nothing: Purnie's misery lay in his confusion.What had he done wrong? When he saw the noose spinning toward himagain, he involuntarily stopped time. He knew better than to use thispower carelessly, but his action now was reflex. In that split secondfollowing the sharp sting in his leg, his mind had grasped in alldirections to find an acceptable course of action. Finding none, it hadordered the stoppage of time. The scene around him became a tableau once more. The noose hungmotionless over his head while the rest of the rope snaked its way intransverse waves back to one of the two-legged animals. Purnie draggedhimself through the congregation, whimpering from his inability tounderstand. As he worked his way past one creature after another, he tried at firstto not look them in the eye, for he felt sure he had done somethingwrong. Then he thought that by sneaking a glance at them as he passed,he might see a sign pointing to their purpose. He limped by one who hadin his hand a small shiny object that had been emitting smoke from oneend; the smoke now billowed in lifeless curls about the animal's head.He hobbled by another who held a small box that had previously made ahissing sound whenever Purnie was near. These things told him nothing.Before starting his climb up the knoll, he passed a tripon which, trueto its reputation, was comical even in fright. Startled by the loudexplosion, it had jumped four feet into the air before Purnie hadstopped time. Now it hung there, its beak stuffed with seaweed and itsthree legs drawn up into a squatting position. Leaving the assorted statues behind, he limped his way up the knoll,torn between leaving and staying. What an odd place, this oceancountry! He wondered why he had not heard more detail about the beachanimals. Reaching the top of the bluff, he looked down upon his silent friendswith a feeling of deep sorrow. How he wished he were down there playingwith them. But he knew at last that theirs was a game he didn't fitinto. Now there was nothing left but to resume time and start thelong walk home. Even though the short day was nearly over, he knew hedidn't dare use time-stopping to get himself home in nothing flat. Hisfatigued body and clouded mind were strong signals that he had alreadyabused this faculty. <doc-sep>When Purnie started time again, the animal with the noose stood inopen-mouthed disbelief as the rope fell harmlessly to the sand—on thespot where Purnie had been standing. My God, he's—he's gone. Then another of the animals, the one with the smoking thing in hishand, ran a few steps toward the noose, stopped and gaped at the rope.All right, you people, what's going on here? Get him in that box. Whatdid you do with him? The resumption of time meant nothing at all to those on the beach, forto them time had never stopped. The only thing they could be sure ofwas that at one moment there had been a fuzzy creature hopping aroundin front of them, and the next moment he was gone. Is he invisible, Captain? Where is he? Up there, Captain! On those rocks. Isn't that him? Well, I'll be damned! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsible for this! Now thatyou've botched it up, I'll bring him down my own way. Just a minute, Forbes, let me think. There's something about thatfuzzy little devil that we should.... Forbes! I warned you about thatgun! Purnie moved across the top of the rockpile for a last look at hisfriends. His weight on the end of the first log started the slide.Slowly at first, the giant pencils began cascading down the shortdistance to the sand. Purnie fell back onto solid ground, horrified atthe spectacle before him. The agonizing screams of the animals belowfilled him with hysteria. The boulders caught most of them as they stood ankle-deep in the surf.Others were pinned down on the sand. I didn't mean it! Purnie screamed. I'm sorry! Can't you hear? Hehopped back and forth near the edge of the rise, torn with panic andshame. Get up! Please get up! He was horrified by the moans reachinghis ears from the beach. You're getting all wet! Did you hear me?Please get up. He was choked with rage and sorrow. How could he havedone this? He wanted his friends to get up and shake themselves off,tell him it was all right. But it was beyond his power to bring itabout. The lapping tide threatened to cover those in the orange surf. <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath. Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me? I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown! Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving? The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water— Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop. Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore. It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke. Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him. At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim. He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time. Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below. Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened. His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe. He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no urging time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand.... <doc-sep>His friends came to life. The first one he saw stir lay on his stomachand pounded his fists on the beach. A flood of relief settled overPurnie as sounds came from the animal. What's the matter with me? Somebody tell me! Am I nuts? Miles! Schick!What's happening? I'm coming, Rhodes! Heaven help us, man—I saw it, too. We're eithercrazy or those damn logs are alive! It's not the logs. How about us? How'd we get out of the water? Miles,we're both cracking. I'm telling you, man, it's the logs, or rocks or whatever they are.I was looking right at them. First they're on top of me, then they'repiled up over there! Damnit, the logs didn't pick us up out of the ocean, did they? CaptainBenson! Are you men all right? Yes sir, but— Who saw exactly what happened? I'm afraid we're not seeing right, Captain. Those logs— I know, I know. Now get hold of yourselves. We've got to round up theothers and get out of here while time is on our side. But what happened, Captain? Hell, Rhodes, don't you think I'd like to know? Those logs are so oldthey're petrified. The whole bunch of us couldn't lift one. It wouldtake super-human energy to move one of those things. I haven't seen anything super-human. Those ostriches down there are sobusy eating seaweed— All right, let's bear a hand here with the others. Some of them can'twalk. Where's Forbes? He's sitting down there in the water, Captain, crying like a baby. Orlaughing. I can't tell which. We'll have to get him. Miles, Schick, come along. Forbes! You allright? Ho-ho-ho! Seventeen! Seventeen! Seventeen planets, Benson, and they'lldo anything I say! This one's got a mind of its own. Did you see thatlittle trick with the rocks? Ho-ho! See if you can find his gun, Schick; he'll either kill himself or oneof us. Tie his hands and take him back to the ship. We'll be alongshortly. Hah-hah-hah! Seventeen! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsiblefor this. Hee-hee! <doc-sep>Purnie opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Had his friends gone? He pulled himself along on his stomach to a position between two rocks,where he could see without being seen. By the light of the twin moonshe saw that they were leaving, marching away in groups of two andthree, the weak helping the weaker. As they disappeared around thecurving shoreline, the voices of the last two, bringing up the rear farbehind the others, fell faintly on his ears over the sound of the surf. Is it possible that we're all crazy, Captain? It's possible, but we're not. I wish I could be sure. See Forbes up ahead there? What do you think of him? I still can't believe it. He'll never be the same. Tell me something. What was the most unusual thing you noticed backthere? You must be kidding, sir. Why, the way those logs were off of ussuddenly— Yes, of course. But I mean beside that. Well, I guess I was kind of busy. You know, scared and mixed up. But didn't you notice our little pop-eyed friend? Oh, him. I'm afraid not, Captain. I—I guess I was thinking mostly ofmyself. Hmmm. If I could only be sure I saw him. If only someone else saw himtoo. I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir. Well, damn it all, you know that Forbes took a pot shot at him. Gothim in the leg. That being the case, why would the fuzzy little devilcome back to his tormentors—back to us—when we were trapped underthose logs? Well, I guess as long as we were trapped, he figured we couldn't dohim any more harm.... I'm sorry, that was a stupid answer. I guess I'mstill a little shaky. Forget it. Look, you go ahead to the ship and make ready for take-off.I'll join you in a few minutes. I think I'll go back and look around.You know. Make sure we haven't left anyone. No need to do that. They're all ahead of us. I've checked. That's my responsibility, Cabot, not yours. Now go on. <doc-sep>As Purnie lay gathering strength for the long trek home, he saw throughglazed eyes one of the animals coming back along the beach. When it wasnearly directly below him, he could hear it making sounds that by nowhad become familiar. Where are you? Purnie paid little attention to the antics of his friend; he wasbeyond understanding. He wondered what they would say at home when hereturned. We've made a terrible mistake. We— The sounds faded in and out onPurnie's ears as the creature turned slowly and called in differentdirections. He watched the animal walk over to the pile of scatteredlogs and peer around and under them. If you're hurt I'd like to help! The twin moons were high in the skynow, and where their light broke through the swirling clouds a doubleshadow was cast around the animal. With foggy awareness, Purnie watchedthe creature shake its head slowly, then walk away in the direction ofthe others. Purnie's eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. Thebeach was deserted now, and his gaze was transfixed on a shimmeringwhite square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnieever saw, was emblazoned the word FORBES. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is Purnie's role in the story?

Although Purnie is an animal and not a human, he plays a very important role in the story. Through his understanding of the world, we learn that he has never felt real fear before. This makes sense because although he has been warned about stopping time, and he has explicitly been told that it could lead to his death, he decides to go ahead with his birthday plan anyway and stop time and see the ocean. When the humans throw a noose at him in an attempt to capture him, he is shocked to find that his body instinctively runs from it. He doesn’t really experience the fear because he wants to play with them and has no interest in leaving the fun, but his natural impulses as an animal save his life at this moment. Humans have never before visited his planet, so this means that no other animal Purnie has come in contact with has made his body react this way. Purnie also demonstrates how evil Forbes is for trying to capture and kill such an innocent and caring animal. When Benson reminds Forbes that it’s illegal to shoot or capture Purnie, Forbes does not care at all. He wants the animal that is emitting radiation because he believes he can make a profit off of him. The value of Purnie’s life means nothing to him. However, as soon as Purnie feels as though his “friends” are in danger, he is willing to risk his own life by stopping time to help them. Purnie feels guilt, regret, and sorrow when he accidentally causes the petrified logs to fall on the men, yet Forbes has none of those feelings when he shoots Purnie in the leg and causes him pain.

What causes Forbes to go mad? [SEP] <s> BEACH SCENE By MARSHALL KING Illustrated by WOOD [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine October 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] It was a fine day at the beach for Purnie's game—but his new friends played very rough! Purnie ran laughing and shouting through the forest until he could runno more. He fell headlong into a patch of blue moss and whooped withdelight in having this day free for exploring. He was free to see theocean at last. When he had caught his breath, he looked back through the forest. Nosign of the village; he had left it far behind. Safe from the scrutinyof brothers and parents, there was nothing now to stop him from goingto the ocean. This was the moment to stop time. On your mark! he shouted to the rippling stream and its orangewhirlpools. He glanced furtively from side to side, pretending thatsome object might try to get a head start. Get set! he challengedthe thin-winged bees that hovered over the abundant foliage. Stop!He shrieked this command upward toward the dense, low-hanging purpleclouds that perennially raced across the treetops, making one wonderhow tall the trees really were. His eyes took quick inventory. It was exactly as he knew it would be:the milky-orange stream had become motionless and its minute whirlpoolshad stopped whirling; a nearby bee hung suspended over a paka plant,its transparent wings frozen in position for a downward stroke; and theheavy purple fluid overhead held fast in its manufacture of whorls andnimbi. With everything around him in a state of perfect tableau, Purniehurried toward the ocean. If only the days weren't so short! he thought. There was so much tosee and so little time. It seemed that everyone except him had seenthe wonders of the beach country. The stories he had heard from hisbrothers and their friends had taunted him for as long as he couldremember. So many times had he heard these thrilling tales that now,as he ran along, he could clearly picture the wonderland as though hewere already there. There would be a rockslide of petrified logs toplay on, the ocean itself with waves higher than a house, the comicalthree-legged tripons who never stopped munching on seaweed, and manykinds of other wonderful creatures found only at the ocean. He bounced through the forest as though the world was reserved thisday just for him. And who could say it wasn't? he thought. Wasn't thishis fifth birthday? He ran along feeling sorry for four-year-olds, andeven for those who were only four and a half, for they were babies andwouldn't dare try slipping away to the ocean alone. But five! I'll set you free, Mr. Bee—just wait and see! As he passed one ofthe many motionless pollen-gathering insects he met on the way, he tookcare not to brush against it or disturb its interrupted task. WhenPurnie had stopped time, the bees—like all the other creatures hemet—had been arrested in their native activities, and he knew that assoon as he resumed time, everything would pick up where it had left off. <doc-sep>When he smelled an acid sweetness that told him the ocean was not faroff, his pulse quickened in anticipation. Rather than spoil what wasclearly going to be a perfect day, he chose to ignore the fact that hehad been forbidden to use time-stopping as a convenience for journeyingfar from home. He chose to ignore the oft-repeated statement that anhour of time-stopping consumed more energy than a week of foot-racing.He chose to ignore the negative maxim that small children who stoptime without an adult being present, may not live to regret it. He chose, instead, to picture the beaming praise of family and friendswhen they learned of his brave journey. The journey was long, the clock stood still. He stopped long enough togather some fruit that grew along the path. It would serve as his lunchduring this day of promise. With it under his arm he bounded along adozen more steps, then stopped abruptly in his tracks. He found himself atop a rocky knoll, overlooking the mighty sea! He was so overpowered by the vista before him that his Hurrah! cameout as a weak squeak. The ocean lay at the ready, its stilled wavesawaiting his command to resume their tidal sweep. The breakers alongthe shoreline hung in varying stages of disarray, some having alreadyexploded into towering white spray while others were poised in smoothorange curls waiting to start that action. And there were new friends everywhere! Overhead, a flock of spora werefrozen in a steep glide, preparatory to a beach landing. Purnie hadheard of these playful creatures many times. Today, with his brothersin school, he would have the pets all to himself. Further down thebeach was a pair of two-legged animals poised in mid-step, facingthe spot where Purnie now stood. Some distance behind them were eightmore, each of whom were motionless in a curious pose of interruptedanimation. And down in the water, where the ocean ran itself into thinnothingness upon the sand, he saw standing here and there the comicaltripons, those three-legged marine buffoons who made handsome careersof munching seaweed. Hi there! Purnie called. When he got no reaction, he remembered thathe himself was dead to the living world: he was still in a zone oftime-stopping, on the inside looking out. For him, the world wouldcontinue to be a tableau of mannikins until he resumed time. <doc-sep>Hi there! he called again; but now his mental attitude was that heexpected time to resume. It did! Immediately he was surrounded byactivity. He heard the roar of the crashing orange breakers, he tastedthe dew of acid that floated from the spray, and he saw his new friendscontinue the actions which he had stopped while back in the forest. He knew, too, that at this moment, in the forest, the little brookpicked up its flow where it had left off, the purple clouds resumedtheir leeward journey up the valley, and the bees continued theirpollen-gathering without having missed a single stroke of theirdelicate wings. The brook, the clouds, and the insects had not beeninterrupted in the least; their respective tasks had been performedwith continuing sureness. It was time itself that Purnie had stopped,not the world around him. He scampered around the rockpile and down the sandy cliff to meet thetripons who, to him, had just come to life. I can stand on my head! He set down his lunch and balanced himselfbottoms-up while his legs pawed the air in an effort to hold him inposition. He knew it was probably the worst head-stand he had everdone, for he felt weak and dizzy. Already time-stopping had left itsmark on his strength. But his spirits ran on unchecked. The tripon thought Purnie's feat was superb. It stopped munching longenough to give him a salutory wag of its rump before returning to itsrepast. Purnie ran from pillar to post, trying to see and do everything atonce. He looked around to greet the flock of spora, but they had glidedto a spot further along the shore. Then, bouncing up to the first ofthe two-legged animals, he started to burst forth with his habitual Hithere! when he heard them making sounds of their own. ... will be no limit to my operations now, Benson. This planet makesseventeen. Seventeen planets I can claim as my own! My, my. Seventeen planets. And tell me, Forbes, just what the hell areyou going to do with them—mount them on the wall of your den back inSan Diego? Hi there, wanna play? Purnie's invitation got nothing more thanstartled glance from the animals who quickly returned to their chatter.He scampered up the beach, picked up his lunch, and ran back to them,tagging along at their heels. I've got my lunch, want some? Benson, you'd better tell your men back there to stop gawking atthe scenery and get to work. Time is money. I didn't pay for thisexpedition just to give your flunkies a vacation. <doc-sep>The animals stopped so suddenly that Purnie nearly tangled himself intheir heels. All right, Forbes, just hold it a minute. Listen to me. Sure, it'syour money that put us here; it's your expedition all the way. But youhired me to get you here with the best crew on earth, and that's justwhat I've done. My job isn't over yet. I'm responsible for the safetyof the men while we're here, and for the safe trip home. Precisely. And since you're responsible, get 'em working. Tell 'em tobring along the flag. Look at the damn fools back there, playing in theocean with a three-legged ostrich! Good God, man, aren't you human? We've only been on this planet twentyminutes! Naturally they want to look around. They half expected to findwild animals or worse, and here we are surrounded by quaint littlecreatures that run up to us like we're long-lost brothers. Let the menlook around a minute or two before we stake out your claim. Bah! Bunch of damn children. As Purnie followed along, a leg shot out at him and missed. Benson,will you get this bug-eyed kangaroo away from me! Purnie shrieked withjoy at this new frolic and promptly stood on his head. In this positionhe got an upside down view of them walking away. He gave up trying to stay with them. Why did they move so fast, anyway?What was the hurry? As he sat down and began eating his lunch, threemore of the creatures came along making excited noises, apparentlytrying to catch up to the first two. As they passed him, he held outhis lunch. Want some? No response. Playing held more promise than eating. He left his lunch half eaten andwent down to where they had stopped further along the beach. Captain Benson, sir! Miles has detected strong radiation in thevicinity. He's trying to locate it now. There you are, Forbes. Your new piece of real estate is going to makeyou so rich that you can buy your next planet. That'll make eighteen, Ibelieve. Radiation, bah! We've found low-grade ore on every planet I'vediscovered so far, and this one'll be no different. Now how about thatflag? Let's get it up, Benson. And the cornerstone, and the plaque. All right, lads. The sooner we get Mr. Forbes's pennant raised and hisclaim staked out, the sooner we can take time to look around. Livelynow! <doc-sep>When the three animals went back to join the rest of their group, thefirst two resumed walking. Purnie followed along. Well, Benson, you won't have to look far for materials to use for thebase of the flag pole. Look at that rockpile up there. Can't use them. They're petrified logs. The ones on top are too highto carry down, and if we move those on the bottom, the whole works willslide down on top of us. Well—that's your problem. Just remember, I want this flag pole to besolid. It's got to stand at least— Don't worry, Forbes, we'll get your monument erected. What's this withthe flag? There must be more to staking a claim than just putting up aflag. There is, there is. Much more. I've taken care of all requirements setdown by law to make my claim. But the flag? Well, you might say itrepresents an empire, Benson. The Forbes Empire. On each of my flagsis the word FORBES, a symbol of development and progress. Call itsentiment if you will. Don't worry, I won't. I've seen real-estate flags before. Damn it all, will you stop referring to this as a real-estate deal?What I'm doing is big, man. Big! This is pioneering. Of course. And if I'm not mistaken, you've set up a neat little escrowsystem so that you not only own the planets, but you will virtually ownthe people who are foolish enough to buy land on them. I could have your hide for talking to me like this. Damn you, man!It's people like me who pay your way. It's people like me who give yourspace ships some place to go. It's people like me who pour good moneyinto a chancey job like this, so that people like you can get away fromthirteen-story tenement houses. Did you ever think of that? I imagine you'll triple your money in six months. When they stopped, Purnie stopped. At first he had been interested inthe strange sounds they were making, but as he grew used to them, andas they in turn ignored his presence, he hopped alongside chattering tohimself, content to be in their company. He heard more of these sounds coming from behind, and he turned to seethe remainder of the group running toward them. Captain Benson! Here's the flag, sir. And here's Miles with thescintillometer. He says the radiation's getting stronger over this way! How about that, Miles? This thing's going wild, Captain. It's almost off scale. <doc-sep>Purnie saw one of the animals hovering around him with a little box.Thankful for the attention, he stood on his head. Can you do this?He was overjoyed at the reaction. They all started making wonderfulnoises, and he felt most satisfied. Stand back, Captain! Here's the source right here! This littlechuck-walla's hotter than a plutonium pile! Let me see that, Miles. Well, I'll be damned! Now what do yousuppose— By now they had formed a widening circle around him, and he was hardput to think of an encore. He gambled on trying a brand new trick: hestood on one leg. Benson, I must have that animal! Put him in a box. Now wait a minute, Forbes. Universal Law forbids— This is my planet and I am the law. Put him in a box! With my crew as witness, I officially protest— Good God, what a specimen to take back. Radio-active animals! Why,they can reproduce themselves, of course! There must be thousands ofthese creatures around here someplace. And to think of those damn foolson Earth with their plutonium piles! Hah! Now I'll have investors flocking to me. How about it, Benson—does pioneering pay off ordoesn't it? Not so fast. Since this little fellow is radioactive, there may begreat danger to the crew— Now look here! You had planned to put mineral specimens in a leadbox, so what's the difference? Put him in a box. He'll die. I have you under contract, Benson! You are responsible to me, andwhat's more, you are on my property. Put him in a box. Purnie was tired. First the time-stopping, then this. While this dayhad brought more fun and excitement than he could have hoped for,the strain was beginning to tell. He lay in the center of the circlehappily exhausted, hoping that his friends would show him some of theirown tricks. He didn't have to wait long. The animals forming the circle steppedback and made way for two others who came through carrying a box.Purnie sat up to watch the show. Hell, Captain, why don't I just pick him up? Looks like he has nointention of running away. Better not, Cabot. Even though you're shielded, no telling whatpowers the little fella has. Play it safe and use the rope. I swear he knows what we're saying. Look at those eyes. All right, careful now with that line. Come on, baby. Here you go. That's a boy! <doc-sep>Purnie took in these sounds with perplexed concern. He sensed theimploring quality of the creature with the rope, but he didn't knowwhat he was supposed to do. He cocked his head to one side as hewiggled in anticipation. He saw the noose spinning down toward his head, and, before he knewit, he had scooted out of the circle and up the sandy beach. He wassurprised at himself for running away. Why had he done it? He wondered.Never before had he felt this fleeting twinge that made him want toprotect himself. He watched the animals huddle around the box on the beach, theirattention apparently diverted to something else. He wished now that hehad not run away; he felt he had lost his chance to join in their fun. Wait! He ran over to his half-eaten lunch, picked it up, and ran backinto the little crowd. I've got my lunch, want some? The party came to life once more. His friends ran this way and that,and at last Purnie knew that the idea was to get him into the box.He picked up the spirit of the tease, and deliberately ran within afew feet of the lead box, then, just as the nearest pursuer was aboutto push him in, he sidestepped onto safer ground. Then he heard adeafening roar and felt a warm, wet sting in one of his legs. Forbes, you fool! Put away that gun! There you are, boys. It's all in knowing how. Just winged him, that'sall. Now pick him up. The pang in his leg was nothing: Purnie's misery lay in his confusion.What had he done wrong? When he saw the noose spinning toward himagain, he involuntarily stopped time. He knew better than to use thispower carelessly, but his action now was reflex. In that split secondfollowing the sharp sting in his leg, his mind had grasped in alldirections to find an acceptable course of action. Finding none, it hadordered the stoppage of time. The scene around him became a tableau once more. The noose hungmotionless over his head while the rest of the rope snaked its way intransverse waves back to one of the two-legged animals. Purnie draggedhimself through the congregation, whimpering from his inability tounderstand. As he worked his way past one creature after another, he tried at firstto not look them in the eye, for he felt sure he had done somethingwrong. Then he thought that by sneaking a glance at them as he passed,he might see a sign pointing to their purpose. He limped by one who hadin his hand a small shiny object that had been emitting smoke from oneend; the smoke now billowed in lifeless curls about the animal's head.He hobbled by another who held a small box that had previously made ahissing sound whenever Purnie was near. These things told him nothing.Before starting his climb up the knoll, he passed a tripon which, trueto its reputation, was comical even in fright. Startled by the loudexplosion, it had jumped four feet into the air before Purnie hadstopped time. Now it hung there, its beak stuffed with seaweed and itsthree legs drawn up into a squatting position. Leaving the assorted statues behind, he limped his way up the knoll,torn between leaving and staying. What an odd place, this oceancountry! He wondered why he had not heard more detail about the beachanimals. Reaching the top of the bluff, he looked down upon his silent friendswith a feeling of deep sorrow. How he wished he were down there playingwith them. But he knew at last that theirs was a game he didn't fitinto. Now there was nothing left but to resume time and start thelong walk home. Even though the short day was nearly over, he knew hedidn't dare use time-stopping to get himself home in nothing flat. Hisfatigued body and clouded mind were strong signals that he had alreadyabused this faculty. <doc-sep>When Purnie started time again, the animal with the noose stood inopen-mouthed disbelief as the rope fell harmlessly to the sand—on thespot where Purnie had been standing. My God, he's—he's gone. Then another of the animals, the one with the smoking thing in hishand, ran a few steps toward the noose, stopped and gaped at the rope.All right, you people, what's going on here? Get him in that box. Whatdid you do with him? The resumption of time meant nothing at all to those on the beach, forto them time had never stopped. The only thing they could be sure ofwas that at one moment there had been a fuzzy creature hopping aroundin front of them, and the next moment he was gone. Is he invisible, Captain? Where is he? Up there, Captain! On those rocks. Isn't that him? Well, I'll be damned! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsible for this! Now thatyou've botched it up, I'll bring him down my own way. Just a minute, Forbes, let me think. There's something about thatfuzzy little devil that we should.... Forbes! I warned you about thatgun! Purnie moved across the top of the rockpile for a last look at hisfriends. His weight on the end of the first log started the slide.Slowly at first, the giant pencils began cascading down the shortdistance to the sand. Purnie fell back onto solid ground, horrified atthe spectacle before him. The agonizing screams of the animals belowfilled him with hysteria. The boulders caught most of them as they stood ankle-deep in the surf.Others were pinned down on the sand. I didn't mean it! Purnie screamed. I'm sorry! Can't you hear? Hehopped back and forth near the edge of the rise, torn with panic andshame. Get up! Please get up! He was horrified by the moans reachinghis ears from the beach. You're getting all wet! Did you hear me?Please get up. He was choked with rage and sorrow. How could he havedone this? He wanted his friends to get up and shake themselves off,tell him it was all right. But it was beyond his power to bring itabout. The lapping tide threatened to cover those in the orange surf. <doc-sep>Purnie worked his way down the hill, imploring them to save themselves.The sounds they made carried a new tone, a desperate foreboding ofdeath. Rhodes! Cabot! Can you hear me? I—I can't move, Captain. My leg, it's.... My God, we're going todrown! Look around you, Cabot. Can you see anyone moving? The men on the beach are nearly buried, Captain. And the rest of ushere in the water— Forbes. Can you see Forbes? Maybe he's— His sounds were cut off by awavelet gently rolling over his head. Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of theanimals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregardingthe consequences, he ordered time to stop. Wading down into the surf, he worked a log off one victim, then hetugged the animal up to the sand. Through blinding tears, Purnie workedslowly and carefully. He knew there was no hurry—at least, not as faras his friends' safety was concerned. No matter what their conditionof life or death was at this moment, it would stay the same way untilhe started time again. He made his way deeper into the orange liquid,where a raised hand signalled the location of a submerged body. Thehand was clutching a large white banner that was tangled among thelogs. Purnie worked the animal free and pulled it ashore. It was the one who had been carrying the shiny object that spit smoke. Scarcely noticing his own injured leg, he ferried one victim afteranother until there were no more in the surf. Up on the beach, hestarted unraveling the logs that pinned down the animals caught there.He removed a log from the lap of one, who then remained in a sittingposition, his face contorted into a frozen mask of agony and shock.Another, with the weight removed, rolled over like an iron statue intoa new position. Purnie whimpered in black misery as he surveyed thechaotic scene before him. At last he could do no more; he felt consciousness slipping away fromhim. He instinctively knew that if he lost his senses during a period oftime-stopping, events would pick up where they had left off ... withouthim. For Purnie, this would be death. If he had to lose consciousness,he knew he must first resume time. Step by step he plodded up the little hill, pausing every now and thento consider if this were the moment to start time before it was toolate. With his energy fast draining away, he reached the top of theknoll, and he turned to look down once more on the group below. Then he knew how much his mind and body had suffered: when he orderedtime to resume, nothing happened. His heart sank. He wasn't afraid of death, and he knew that if he diedthe oceans would roll again and his friends would move about. But hewanted to see them safe. He tried to clear his mind for supreme effort. There was no urging time to start. He knew he couldn't persuade it by bits and pieces,first slowly then full ahead. Time either progressed or it didn't. Hehad to take one viewpoint or the other. Then, without knowing exactly when it happened, his mind tookcommand.... <doc-sep>His friends came to life. The first one he saw stir lay on his stomachand pounded his fists on the beach. A flood of relief settled overPurnie as sounds came from the animal. What's the matter with me? Somebody tell me! Am I nuts? Miles! Schick!What's happening? I'm coming, Rhodes! Heaven help us, man—I saw it, too. We're eithercrazy or those damn logs are alive! It's not the logs. How about us? How'd we get out of the water? Miles,we're both cracking. I'm telling you, man, it's the logs, or rocks or whatever they are.I was looking right at them. First they're on top of me, then they'repiled up over there! Damnit, the logs didn't pick us up out of the ocean, did they? CaptainBenson! Are you men all right? Yes sir, but— Who saw exactly what happened? I'm afraid we're not seeing right, Captain. Those logs— I know, I know. Now get hold of yourselves. We've got to round up theothers and get out of here while time is on our side. But what happened, Captain? Hell, Rhodes, don't you think I'd like to know? Those logs are so oldthey're petrified. The whole bunch of us couldn't lift one. It wouldtake super-human energy to move one of those things. I haven't seen anything super-human. Those ostriches down there are sobusy eating seaweed— All right, let's bear a hand here with the others. Some of them can'twalk. Where's Forbes? He's sitting down there in the water, Captain, crying like a baby. Orlaughing. I can't tell which. We'll have to get him. Miles, Schick, come along. Forbes! You allright? Ho-ho-ho! Seventeen! Seventeen! Seventeen planets, Benson, and they'lldo anything I say! This one's got a mind of its own. Did you see thatlittle trick with the rocks? Ho-ho! See if you can find his gun, Schick; he'll either kill himself or oneof us. Tie his hands and take him back to the ship. We'll be alongshortly. Hah-hah-hah! Seventeen! Benson, I'm holding you personally responsiblefor this. Hee-hee! <doc-sep>Purnie opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Had his friends gone? He pulled himself along on his stomach to a position between two rocks,where he could see without being seen. By the light of the twin moonshe saw that they were leaving, marching away in groups of two andthree, the weak helping the weaker. As they disappeared around thecurving shoreline, the voices of the last two, bringing up the rear farbehind the others, fell faintly on his ears over the sound of the surf. Is it possible that we're all crazy, Captain? It's possible, but we're not. I wish I could be sure. See Forbes up ahead there? What do you think of him? I still can't believe it. He'll never be the same. Tell me something. What was the most unusual thing you noticed backthere? You must be kidding, sir. Why, the way those logs were off of ussuddenly— Yes, of course. But I mean beside that. Well, I guess I was kind of busy. You know, scared and mixed up. But didn't you notice our little pop-eyed friend? Oh, him. I'm afraid not, Captain. I—I guess I was thinking mostly ofmyself. Hmmm. If I could only be sure I saw him. If only someone else saw himtoo. I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir. Well, damn it all, you know that Forbes took a pot shot at him. Gothim in the leg. That being the case, why would the fuzzy little devilcome back to his tormentors—back to us—when we were trapped underthose logs? Well, I guess as long as we were trapped, he figured we couldn't dohim any more harm.... I'm sorry, that was a stupid answer. I guess I'mstill a little shaky. Forget it. Look, you go ahead to the ship and make ready for take-off.I'll join you in a few minutes. I think I'll go back and look around.You know. Make sure we haven't left anyone. No need to do that. They're all ahead of us. I've checked. That's my responsibility, Cabot, not yours. Now go on. <doc-sep>As Purnie lay gathering strength for the long trek home, he saw throughglazed eyes one of the animals coming back along the beach. When it wasnearly directly below him, he could hear it making sounds that by nowhad become familiar. Where are you? Purnie paid little attention to the antics of his friend; he wasbeyond understanding. He wondered what they would say at home when hereturned. We've made a terrible mistake. We— The sounds faded in and out onPurnie's ears as the creature turned slowly and called in differentdirections. He watched the animal walk over to the pile of scatteredlogs and peer around and under them. If you're hurt I'd like to help! The twin moons were high in the skynow, and where their light broke through the swirling clouds a doubleshadow was cast around the animal. With foggy awareness, Purnie watchedthe creature shake its head slowly, then walk away in the direction ofthe others. Purnie's eyes stared, without seeing, at the panorama before him. Thebeach was deserted now, and his gaze was transfixed on a shimmeringwhite square floating on the ocean. Across it, the last thing Purnieever saw, was emblazoned the word FORBES. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What causes Forbes to go mad?

Forbes believes he can control anyone and anything he comes in contact with. His first order of business upon landing on the gorgeous planet is to put up his flag emblazoned with his name. When Benson reminds him that the crew members are interested in taking a moment to look around, Forbes reprimands him for suggesting that they have the right to waste his money. He believes that putting up his flag is a symbol of defeat, and he is incredibly eager to take over a planet he literally just landed on and knows almost nothing about. He incessantly talks about the 17 other planets he has already conquered, and he calls himself a pioneer. Although Forbes definitely makes a lot of money by claiming these planets, he is more interested in the control and fame it brings him than the money he will inevitably make. The first time that Purnie freezes time to escape the noose after Forbes shoots him in the leg, Forbes is incredibly confused but willing to blame the glitch on Benson. He shot Purnie after explicitly being told not to, so he assumes that Benson secretly managed to aid Purnie in getting away. He is furious at this act because capturing the animal emitting radiation is very important to him. He doesn't care if it’s illegal or immoral. He wants control of the planet, the animal, and the crew. The second time that Purnie freezes time, Forbes cannot simply ignore it. He knows that he saw the petrified logs falling down the hill, he knows that he saw several crew members pinned under the logs, about to drown, and he knows that he himself was in a near-death situation one second and saved in the next. There is simply no explanation in his mind for what occurred, and his brain can’t compute the mysterious event. He laughs hysterically because he can’t process the information that his brain receives. He was about to die, and now he is perfectly fine, and he has no explanation for the chain of events.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> HUNT the HUNTER BY KRIS NEVILLE Illustrated by ELIZABETH MacINTYRE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Of course using live bait is the best way to lure dangerous alien animals ... unless it turns out that you are the bait! We're somewhat to the south, I think, Ri said, bending over the crudefield map. That ridge, he pointed, on our left, is right here. Hedrew a finger down the map. It was over here, he moved the finger,over the ridge, north of here, that we sighted them. Extrone asked, Is there a pass? Ri looked up, studying the terrain. He moved his shoulders. I don'tknow, but maybe they range this far. Maybe they're on this side of theridge, too. Delicately, Extrone raised a hand to his beard. I'd hate to lose a daycrossing the ridge, he said. Yes, sir, Ri said. Suddenly he threw back his head. Listen! Eh? Extrone said. Hear it? That cough? I think that's one, from over there. Right upahead of us. Extrone raised his eyebrows. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. It is! Ri said. It's a farn beast, all right! Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. I'mglad we won't have to cross the ridge. Ri wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. Yes, sir. We'll pitch camp right here, then, Extrone said. We'll go after ittomorrow. He looked at the sky. Have the bearers hurry. Yes, sir. Ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. You, there! he called.Pitch camp, here! He crossed to Mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into Extrone'sparty as guides. Once more, Ri addressed the bearers, Be quick, now!And to Mia, God almighty, he was getting mad. He ran a hand under hiscollar. It's a good thing that farn beast sounded off when it did. I'dhate to think of making him climb that ridge. Mia glanced nervously over his shoulder. It's that damned pilot'sfault for setting us down on this side. I told him it was the otherside. I told him so. Ri shrugged hopelessly. Mia said, I don't think he even saw a blast area over here. I think hewanted to get us in trouble. There shouldn't be one. There shouldn't be a blast area on this sideof the ridge, too. That's what I mean. The pilot don't like businessmen. He had it in forus. Ri cleared his throat nervously. Maybe you're right. It's the Hunting Club he don't like. I wish to God I'd never heard of a farn beast, Ri said. At least,then, I wouldn't be one of his guides. Why didn't he hire somebodyelse? <doc-sep>Mia looked at his companion. He spat. What hurts most, he pays us forit. I could buy half this planet, and he makes me his guide—at lessthan I pay my secretary. Well, anyway, we won't have to cross that ridge. Hey, you! Extrone called. The two of them turned immediately. You two scout ahead, Extrone said. See if you can pick up sometracks. Yes, sir, Ri said, and instantly the two of them readjusted theirshoulder straps and started off. Shortly they were inside of the scrub forest, safe from sight. Let'swait here, Mia said. No, we better go on. He may have sent a spy in. They pushed on, being careful to blaze the trees, because they were notprofessional guides. We don't want to get too near, Ri said after toiling through theforest for many minutes. Without guns, we don't want to get nearenough for the farn beast to charge us. They stopped. The forest was dense, the vines clinging. He'll want the bearers to hack a path for him, Mia said. But we goit alone. Damn him. Ri twisted his mouth into a sour frown. He wiped at his forehead. Hot.By God, it's hot. I didn't think it was this hot, the first time wewere here. Mia said, The first time, we weren't guides. We didn't notice it somuch then. They fought a few yards more into the forest. Then it ended. Or, rather, there was a wide gap. Before them lay ablast area, unmistakable. The grass was beginning to grow again, butthe tree stumps were roasted from the rocket breath. This isn't ours! Ri said. This looks like it was made nearly a yearago! Mia's eyes narrowed. The military from Xnile? No, Ri said. They don't have any rockets this small. And I don'tthink there's another cargo rocket on this planet outside of the one weleased from the Club. Except the one he brought. The ones who discovered the farn beasts in the first place? Miaasked. You think it's their blast? So? Ri said. But who are they? <doc-sep>It was Mia's turn to shrug. Whoever they were, they couldn't have beenhunters. They'd have kept the secret better. We didn't do so damned well. We didn't have a chance, Mia objected. Everybody and his brother hadheard the rumor that farn beasts were somewhere around here. It wasn'tour fault Extrone found out. I wish we hadn't shot our guide, then. I wish he was here instead ofus. Mia shook perspiration out of his eyes. We should have shot our pilot,too. That was our mistake. The pilot must have been the one who toldExtrone we'd hunted this area. I didn't think a Club pilot would do that. After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going tothe alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute. There was perspiration on Ri's upper lip. I didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking, Mia said. Ri's mouth twisted. I didn't say you did. Listen, Mia said in a hoarse whisper. I just thought. Listen. Tohell with how he found out. Here's the point. Maybe he'll shoot us,too, when the hunt's over. Ri licked his lips. No. He wouldn't do that. We're not—not justanybody. He couldn't kill us like that. Not even him . And besides,why would he want to do that? It wouldn't do any good to shoot us. Toomany people already know about the farn beasts. You said that yourself. Mia said, I hope you're right. They stood side by side, studying theblast area in silence. Finally, Mia said, We better be getting back. What'll we tell him? That we saw tracks. What else can we tell him? They turned back along their trail, stumbling over vines. It gets hotter at sunset, Ri said nervously. The breeze dies down. It's screwy. I didn't think farn beasts had this wide a range. Theremust be a lot of them, to be on both sides of the ridge like this. There may be a pass, Mia said, pushing a vine away. Ri wrinkled his brow, panting. I guess that's it. If there were a lotof them, we'd have heard something before we did. But even so, it'sdamned funny, when you think about it. Mia looked up at the darkening sky. We better hurry, he said. <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts. Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff. What in hell do you want? Extrone asked. They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began. Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice. Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed? We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir. So? Extrone mocked. We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here. The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir.... Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you? Yes, sir. When we located it, sir. You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said. We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone said, To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here.And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And youcan't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway. That's why we'd like you to return to an inner planet, sir. Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. You'lllose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen.I'm quite safe here, I think. The bearer brought Extrone his drink. Get off, Extrone said quietly to the four officers. Again they turned reluctantly. This time, he did not call them back.Instead, with amusement, he watched until they disappeared into thetangle of forest. Dusk was falling. The takeoff blast of the rocket illuminated the area,casting weird shadows on the gently swaying grasses; there was a hotbreath of dry air and the rocket dwindled toward the stars. Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away,listened for it to shatter. He reached out, parted the heavy flap tohis tent. Sir? Ri said, hurrying toward him in the gathering darkness. Eh? Extrone said, turning, startled. Oh, you. Well? We ... located signs of the farn beast, sir. To the east. Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, You killed one, I believe, on your trip? Ri shifted. Yes, sir. Extrone held back the flap of the tent. Won't you come in? he askedwithout any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. The inside of the tent was luxurious. The bed was of bulky feathers,costly of transport space, the sleep curtains of silken gauze. Thefloor, heavy, portable tile blocks, not the hollow kind, were neatlyand smoothly inset into the ground. Hanging from the center, to theleft of the slender, hand-carved center pole, was a chain of crystals.They tinkled lightly when Extrone dropped the flap. The light waselectric from a portable dynamo. Extrone flipped it on. He crossed tothe bed, sat down. You were, I believe, the first ever to kill a farn beast? he said. I.... No, sir. There must have been previous hunters, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone narrowed his eyes. I see by your eyes that you areenvious—that is the word, isn't it?—of my tent. Ri looked away from his face. Perhaps I'm envious of your reputation as a hunter. You see, I havenever killed a farn beast. In fact, I haven't seen a farn beast. Ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding Extrone'sglittering ones. Few people have seen them, sir. Oh? Extrone questioned mildly. I wouldn't say that. I understandthat the aliens hunt them quite extensively ... on some of theirplanets. I meant in our system, sir. Of course you did, Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of hissleeve with his forefinger. I imagine these are the only farn beastsin our system. Ri waited uneasily, not answering. Yes, Extrone said, I imagine they are. It would have been a shame ifyou had killed the last one. Don't you think so? Ri's hands worried the sides of his outer garment. Yes, sir. It wouldhave been. Extrone pursed his lips. It wouldn't have been very considerate of youto—But, still, you gained valuable experience. I'm glad you agreed tocome along as my guide. It was an honor, sir. Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. If I had waited until it wassafe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able tofind such an illustrious guide. ... I'm flattered, sir. Of course, Extrone said. But you should have spoken to me about it,when you discovered the farn beast in our own system. I realize that, sir. That is, I had intended at the first opportunity,sir.... Of course, Extrone said dryly. Like all of my subjects, he wavedhis hand in a broad gesture, the highest as well as the lowest slave,know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best. Ri squirmed, his face pale. We do indeed love you, sir. Extrone bent forward. Know me and love me. Yes, sir. Know you and love you, sir, Ri said. Get out! Extrone said. <doc-sep>It's frightening, Ri said, to be that close to him. Mia nodded. The two of them, beneath the leaf-swollen branches of the gnarled tree,were seated on their sleeping bags. The moon was clear and cold andbright in a cloudless sky; a small moon, smooth-surfaced, except for acentral mountain ridge that bisected it into almost twin hemispheres. To think of him. As flesh and blood. Not like the—well; that—whatwe've read about. Mia glanced suspiciously around him at the shadows. You begin tounderstand a lot of things, after seeing him. Ri picked nervously at the cover of his sleeping bag. It makes you think, Mia added. He twitched. I'm afraid. I'm afraidhe'll.... Listen, we'll talk. When we get back to civilization. You,me, the bearers. About him. He can't let that happen. He'll kill usfirst. Ri looked up at the moon, shivering. No. We have friends. We haveinfluence. He couldn't just like that— He could say it was an accident. No, Ri said stubbornly. He can say anything, Mia insisted. He can make people believeanything. Whatever he says. There's no way to check on it. It's getting cold, Ri said. Listen, Mia pleaded. No, Ri said. Even if we tried to tell them, they wouldn't listen.Everybody would know we were lying. Everything they've come tobelieve would tell them we were lying. Everything they've read, everypicture they've seen. They wouldn't believe us. He knows that. Listen, Mia repeated intently. This is important. Right now hecouldn't afford to let us talk. Not right now. Because the Army isnot against him. Some officers were here, just before we came back. Abearer overheard them talking. They don't want to overthrow him! Ri's teeth, suddenly, were chattering. That's another lie, Mia continued. That he protects the people fromthe Army. That's a lie. I don't believe they were ever plottingagainst him. Not even at first. I think they helped him, don't yousee? Ri whined nervously. It's like this, Mia said. I see it like this. The Army put him inpower when the people were in rebellion against military rule. <doc-sep>Ri swallowed. We couldn't make the people believe that. No? Mia challenged. Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow?You'll see. Because I think the Army is getting ready to invade thealien system! The people won't support them, Ri answered woodenly. Think. If he tells them to, they will. They trust him. Ri looked around at the shadows. That explains a lot of things, Mia said. I think the Army's beenpreparing for this for a long time. From the first, maybe. That's whyExtrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them fromlearning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keepthem from exposing him to the people. The aliens wouldn't be fooledlike we were, so easy. No! Ri snapped. It was to keep the natural economic balance. You know that's not right. Ri lay down on his bed roll. Don't talk about it. It's not good totalk like this. I don't even want to listen. When the invasion starts, he'll have to command all their loyalties.To keep them from revolt again. They'd be ready to believe us, then.He'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying totell the truth. You're wrong. He's not like that. I know you're wrong. Mia smiled twistedly. How many has he already killed? How can we evenguess? Ri swallowed sickly. Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret? Ri shuddered. That's different. Don't you see? This is not at all likethat. <doc-sep>With morning came birds' songs, came dew, came breakfast smells.The air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike,uncontaminated. And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting theflap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared aroundthe camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep. Breakfast! he shouted, and two bearers came running with a foldingtable and chair. Behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray ofvarious foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcherand a drinking mug. Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in hisconversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth withwater and spat on the ground. Lin! he said. His personal bearer came loping toward him. Have you read that manual I gave you? Lin nodded. Yes. Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. Veryludicrous, Lin. Have you noticed that I have two businessmen forguides? It occurred to me when I got up. They would have spat on me,twenty years ago, damn them. Lin waited. Now I can spit on them, which pleases me. The farn beasts are dangerous, sir, Lin said. Eh? Oh, yes. Those. What did the manual say about them? I believe they're carnivorous, sir. An alien manual. That's ludicrous, too. That we have the onlyinformation on our newly discovered fauna from an alien manual—and, ofcourse, two businessmen. They have very long, sharp fangs, and, when enraged, are capable oftearing a man— An alien? Extrone corrected. There's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. Of tearing analien to pieces, sir. Extrone laughed harshly. It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me? Lin's face remained impassive. I guess it seems that way. Sir. Damned few people would dare go as far as you do, Extrone said. Butyou're afraid of me, too, in your own way, aren't you? Lin shrugged. Maybe. I can see you are. Even my wives are. I wonder if anyone can know howwonderful it feels to have people all afraid of you. The farn beasts, according to the manual.... You are very insistent on one subject. ... It's the only thing I know anything about. The farn beast, as Iwas saying, sir, is the particular enemy of men. Or if you like, ofaliens. Sir. All right, Extrone said, annoyed. I'll be careful. In the distance, a farn beast coughed. Instantly alert, Extrone said, Get the bearers! Have some of them cuta path through that damn thicket! And tell those two businessmen to getthe hell over here! Lin smiled, his eyes suddenly afire with the excitement of the hunt. <doc-sep>Four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. Extrone walkedleisurely, well back of the cutters, who hacked away, methodically, atthe vines and branches which might impede his forward progress. Theirsharp, awkward knives snickered rhythmically to the rasp of their heavybreathing. Occasionally, Extrone halted, motioned for his water carrier, and drankdeeply of the icy water to allay the heat of the forest, a heat madeoppressive by the press of foliage against the outside air. Ranging out, on both sides of the central body, the two businessmenfought independently against the wild growth, each scouting the flanksfor farn beasts, and ahead, beyond the cutters, Lin flittered among thetree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, apowerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustainedfire. To his rear, the water carrier was trailed by a man bearing afolding stool, and behind him, a man carrying the heavy, high-poweredtwo-way communication set. Once Extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny,arboreal mammal, which, upon the impact, shattered asunder, toExtrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. When the sun stood high and heat exhaustion made the near-naked bearersslump, Extrone permitted a rest. While waiting for the march to resume,he sat on the stool with his back against an ancient tree and patted,reflectively, the blast rifle, lying across his legs. For you, sir, the communications man said, interrupting his reverie. Damn, Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. It better beimportant. He took the head-set and mike and nodded to the bearer. Thebearer twiddled the dials. Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell botherme?... All right, so they found out I was here. You got them, didn'tyou? Blasted them right out of space, the voice crackled excitedly. Rightin the middle of a radio broadcast, sir. I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting! Extronetore off the head-set and handed it to the bearer. If they call back,find out what they want, first. I don't want to be bothered unless it'simportant. Yes, sir. Extrone squinted up at the sun; his eyes crinkled under the glare, andperspiration stood in little droplets on the back of his hands. Lin, returning to the column, threaded his way among recliningbearers. He stopped before Extrone and tossed his hair out of his eyes.I located a spoor, he said, suppressed eagerness in his voice. Abouta quarter ahead. It looks fresh. Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. There were two, Ithink. Two? Extrone grinned, petting the rifle. You and I better go forwardand look at the spoor. Lin said, We ought to take protection, if you're going, too. Extrone laughed. This is enough. He gestured with the rifle and stoodup. I wish you had let me bring a gun along, sir, Lin said. One is enough in my camp. <doc-sep>The two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. Extrone movedagilely through the tangle, following Lin closely. When they came tothe tracks, heavily pressed into drying mud around a small wateringhole, Extrone nodded his head in satisfaction. This way, Lin said, pointing, and once more the two of them startedoff. They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming morealert with each additional foot. Finally, Lin stopped him with arestraining hand. They may be quite a way ahead. Hadn't we ought tobring up the column? The farn beast, somewhere beyond a ragged clump of bushes, coughed.Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. The farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. They're moving away, Lin said. Damn! Extrone said. It's a good thing the wind's right, or they'd be coming back, andfast, too. Eh? Extrone said. They charge on scent, sight, or sound. I understand they will trackdown a man for as long as a day. Wait, Extrone said, combing his beard. Wait a minute. Yes? Look, Extrone said. If that's the case, why do we bother trackingthem? Why not make them come to us? They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather havesurprise on our side. You don't seem to see what I mean, Extrone said. We won't bethe—ah—the bait. Oh? Let's get back to the column. <doc-sep>Extrone wants to see you, Lin said. Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy.What's he want to see me for? I don't know, Lin said curtly. Ri got to his feet. One of his hands reached out, plucked nervouslyat Lin's bare forearm. Look, he whispered. You know him. I have—alittle money. If you were able to ... if he wants, Ri gulped, to do anything to me—I'd pay you, if you could.... You better come along, Lin said, turning. Ri rubbed his hands along his thighs; he sighed, a tiny sound,ineffectual. He followed Lin beyond an outcropping of shale to whereExtrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. The farn beast hunter, eh? Yes, sir. Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. Tell mewhat they look like, he said suddenly. Well, sir, they're ... uh.... Pretty frightening? No, sir.... Well, in a way, sir. But you weren't afraid of them, were you? No, sir. No, because.... Extrone was smiling innocently. Good. I want you to do something forme. I ... I.... Ri glanced nervously at Lin out of the tail of his eye.Lin's face was impassive. Of course you will, Extrone said genially. Get me a rope, Lin. Agood, long, strong rope. What are you going to do? Ri asked, terrified. Why, I'm going to tie the rope around your waist and stake you out asbait. No! Oh, come now. When the farn beast hears you scream—you can scream,by the way? Ri swallowed. We could find a way to make you. There was perspiration trickling down Ri's forehead, a single drop,creeping toward his nose. You'll be safe, Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. I'llshoot the animal before it reaches you. Ri gulped for air. But ... if there should be more than one? Extrone shrugged. I—Look, sir. Listen to me. Ri's lips were bloodless and his handswere trembling. It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. He killed a farn beast before I did, sir. And last night—lastnight, he— He what? Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. Ri breathed with a gurgling sound. He said he ought to kill you, sir.That's what he said. I heard him, sir. He said he ought to kill you.He's the one you ought to use for bait. Then if there was an accident,sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. Iwouldn't.... Extrone said, Which one is he? That one. Right over there. The one with his back to me? Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir. Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifleand said, Here comes Lin with the rope, I see. Ri was greenish. You ... you.... Extrone turned to Lin. Tie one end around his waist. Wait, Ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. You don'twant to use me, sir. Not after I told you.... Please, sir. If anythingshould happen to me.... Please, sir. Don't do it. Tie it, Extrone ordered. No, sir. Please. Oh, please don't, sir. Tie it, Extrone said inexorably. Lin bent with the rope; his face was colorless. <doc-sep>They were at the watering hole—Extrone, Lin, two bearers, and Ri. Since the hole was drying, the left, partially exposed bank was steeptoward the muddy water. Upon it was green, new grass, tender-tuffed,half mashed in places by heavy animal treads. It was there that theystaked him out, tying the free end of the rope tightly around the baseof a scaling tree. You will scream, Extrone instructed. With his rifle, he pointedacross the water hole. The farn beast will come from this direction, Iimagine. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. Let me hear you scream, Extrone said. Ri moaned weakly. You'll have to do better than that. Extrone inclined his head towarda bearer, who used something Ri couldn't see. Ri screamed. See that you keep it up that way, Extrone said. That's the way Iwant you to sound. He turned toward Lin. We can climb this tree, Ithink. Slowly, aided by the bearers, the two men climbed the tree, barkpeeling away from under their rough boots. Ri watched them hopelessly. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert.Lin moved to the left, out on the main branch, rested in a smallercrotch. Looking down, Extrone said, Scream! Then, to Lin, You feel theexcitement? It's always in the air like this at a hunt. I feel it, Lin said. Extrone chuckled. You were with me on Meizque? Yes. That was something, that time. He ran his hand along the stock of theweapon. The sun headed west, veiling itself with trees; a large insect circledExtrone's head. He slapped at it, angry. The forest was quiet,underlined by an occasional piping call, something like a whistle. Ri'sscreams were shrill, echoing away, shiveringly. Lin sat quiet, hunched. Extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick,jerky movements. Lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Extrone'sface. The sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed againstthem, sucking at their breath like a vacuum. The insect went away.Still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, Ri screamed. <doc-sep>A farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest. Extrone laughed nervously. He must have heard. We're lucky to rouse one so fast, Lin said. Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. I likethis. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything Iknow. Lin nodded. The waiting, itself, is a lot. The suspense. It's not only the killingthat matters. It's not only the killing, Lin echoed. You understand? Extrone said. How it is to wait, knowing in just aminute something is going to come out of the forest, and you're goingto kill it? I know, Lin said. But it's not only the killing. It's the waiting, too. The farn beast coughed again; nearer. It's a different one, Lin said. How do you know? Hear the lower pitch, the more of a roar? Hey! Extrone shouted. You, down there. There are two coming. Nowlet's hear you really scream! Ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tethertree, his eyes wide. There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too, Extrone said.Making them come to your bait, where you can get at them. Heopened his right hand. Choose your ground, set your trap. Bait it.He snapped his hand into a fist, held the fist up before his eyes,imprisoning the idea. Spring the trap when the quarry is inside.Clever. That makes the waiting more interesting. Waiting to see if theyreally will come to your bait. Lin shifted, staring toward the forest. I've always liked to hunt, Extrone said. More than anything else, Ithink. Lin spat toward the ground. People should hunt because they have to.For food. For safety. No, Extrone argued. People should hunt for the love of hunting. Killing? Hunting, Extrone repeated harshly. <doc-sep>The farn beast coughed. Another answered. They were very near, andthere was a noise of crackling underbrush. He's good bait, Extrone said. He's fat enough and he knows how toscream good. Ri had stopped screaming; he was huddled against the tree, fearfullyeying the forest across from the watering hole. Extrone began to tremble with excitement. Here they come! The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across hislap. The farn beast, its tiny eyes red with hate, stepped out on the bank,swinging its head wildly, its nostrils flaring in anger. It coughed.Its mate appeared beside it. Their tails thrashed against the scrubsbehind them, rattling leaves. Shoot! Lin hissed. For God's sake, shoot! Wait, Extrone said. Let's see what they do. He had not movedthe rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breathbeginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. The lead farn beast sighted Ri. It lowered its head. Look! Extrone cried excitedly. Here it comes! Ri began to scream again. Still Extrone did not lift his blast rifle. He was laughing. Linwaited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. The farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwinga sheet of it to either side, headed across toward Ri. Watch! Watch! Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Extrone is a very important person of influence who is on a hunting trip looking for farn beasts on an outer planet. He has hired guides, Ri and Mia, who are businessmen who have successfully shot a farn beast on a prior private trip. They attempted to conceal their killing of a farn beast on that trip, however, the word got out and now Extrone has forced them (seemingly against their will) to be the guides for his own trip. Ri and Mia do not turn out to be very good guides. Mia is unsupportive of Extrone and suspicious of his activities and potential plans to violently attack the aliens, and Ri is fearful of that talk and of Extrone himself causing him to be unhelpful as a guide.Extrone refers to being loved by his “subjects” suggesting he has a position of royalty or power. The military is at his disposal and seem eager to please him. He is highly focused on finding and killing a farn beast any way possible - and attempts sacrificing his guide Ri as bait for the animal to do it. He kills Mia by shooting him in the back after Ri accuses him of intent to kill Extrone, suggesting Extrone is a violent ruler.Extrone’s focus is on killing a farn beast and this blinds him to the existence of an alien trap on the planet. It is heavily implied that the aliens have intentions to do harm to Extrone, and it is revealed that his fixation on the farn beast led him directly into a trap set by the aliens to capture him.

What is the farn beast and its significance? [SEP] <s> HUNT the HUNTER BY KRIS NEVILLE Illustrated by ELIZABETH MacINTYRE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Of course using live bait is the best way to lure dangerous alien animals ... unless it turns out that you are the bait! We're somewhat to the south, I think, Ri said, bending over the crudefield map. That ridge, he pointed, on our left, is right here. Hedrew a finger down the map. It was over here, he moved the finger,over the ridge, north of here, that we sighted them. Extrone asked, Is there a pass? Ri looked up, studying the terrain. He moved his shoulders. I don'tknow, but maybe they range this far. Maybe they're on this side of theridge, too. Delicately, Extrone raised a hand to his beard. I'd hate to lose a daycrossing the ridge, he said. Yes, sir, Ri said. Suddenly he threw back his head. Listen! Eh? Extrone said. Hear it? That cough? I think that's one, from over there. Right upahead of us. Extrone raised his eyebrows. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. It is! Ri said. It's a farn beast, all right! Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. I'mglad we won't have to cross the ridge. Ri wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. Yes, sir. We'll pitch camp right here, then, Extrone said. We'll go after ittomorrow. He looked at the sky. Have the bearers hurry. Yes, sir. Ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. You, there! he called.Pitch camp, here! He crossed to Mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into Extrone'sparty as guides. Once more, Ri addressed the bearers, Be quick, now!And to Mia, God almighty, he was getting mad. He ran a hand under hiscollar. It's a good thing that farn beast sounded off when it did. I'dhate to think of making him climb that ridge. Mia glanced nervously over his shoulder. It's that damned pilot'sfault for setting us down on this side. I told him it was the otherside. I told him so. Ri shrugged hopelessly. Mia said, I don't think he even saw a blast area over here. I think hewanted to get us in trouble. There shouldn't be one. There shouldn't be a blast area on this sideof the ridge, too. That's what I mean. The pilot don't like businessmen. He had it in forus. Ri cleared his throat nervously. Maybe you're right. It's the Hunting Club he don't like. I wish to God I'd never heard of a farn beast, Ri said. At least,then, I wouldn't be one of his guides. Why didn't he hire somebodyelse? <doc-sep>Mia looked at his companion. He spat. What hurts most, he pays us forit. I could buy half this planet, and he makes me his guide—at lessthan I pay my secretary. Well, anyway, we won't have to cross that ridge. Hey, you! Extrone called. The two of them turned immediately. You two scout ahead, Extrone said. See if you can pick up sometracks. Yes, sir, Ri said, and instantly the two of them readjusted theirshoulder straps and started off. Shortly they were inside of the scrub forest, safe from sight. Let'swait here, Mia said. No, we better go on. He may have sent a spy in. They pushed on, being careful to blaze the trees, because they were notprofessional guides. We don't want to get too near, Ri said after toiling through theforest for many minutes. Without guns, we don't want to get nearenough for the farn beast to charge us. They stopped. The forest was dense, the vines clinging. He'll want the bearers to hack a path for him, Mia said. But we goit alone. Damn him. Ri twisted his mouth into a sour frown. He wiped at his forehead. Hot.By God, it's hot. I didn't think it was this hot, the first time wewere here. Mia said, The first time, we weren't guides. We didn't notice it somuch then. They fought a few yards more into the forest. Then it ended. Or, rather, there was a wide gap. Before them lay ablast area, unmistakable. The grass was beginning to grow again, butthe tree stumps were roasted from the rocket breath. This isn't ours! Ri said. This looks like it was made nearly a yearago! Mia's eyes narrowed. The military from Xnile? No, Ri said. They don't have any rockets this small. And I don'tthink there's another cargo rocket on this planet outside of the one weleased from the Club. Except the one he brought. The ones who discovered the farn beasts in the first place? Miaasked. You think it's their blast? So? Ri said. But who are they? <doc-sep>It was Mia's turn to shrug. Whoever they were, they couldn't have beenhunters. They'd have kept the secret better. We didn't do so damned well. We didn't have a chance, Mia objected. Everybody and his brother hadheard the rumor that farn beasts were somewhere around here. It wasn'tour fault Extrone found out. I wish we hadn't shot our guide, then. I wish he was here instead ofus. Mia shook perspiration out of his eyes. We should have shot our pilot,too. That was our mistake. The pilot must have been the one who toldExtrone we'd hunted this area. I didn't think a Club pilot would do that. After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going tothe alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute. There was perspiration on Ri's upper lip. I didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking, Mia said. Ri's mouth twisted. I didn't say you did. Listen, Mia said in a hoarse whisper. I just thought. Listen. Tohell with how he found out. Here's the point. Maybe he'll shoot us,too, when the hunt's over. Ri licked his lips. No. He wouldn't do that. We're not—not justanybody. He couldn't kill us like that. Not even him . And besides,why would he want to do that? It wouldn't do any good to shoot us. Toomany people already know about the farn beasts. You said that yourself. Mia said, I hope you're right. They stood side by side, studying theblast area in silence. Finally, Mia said, We better be getting back. What'll we tell him? That we saw tracks. What else can we tell him? They turned back along their trail, stumbling over vines. It gets hotter at sunset, Ri said nervously. The breeze dies down. It's screwy. I didn't think farn beasts had this wide a range. Theremust be a lot of them, to be on both sides of the ridge like this. There may be a pass, Mia said, pushing a vine away. Ri wrinkled his brow, panting. I guess that's it. If there were a lotof them, we'd have heard something before we did. But even so, it'sdamned funny, when you think about it. Mia looked up at the darkening sky. We better hurry, he said. <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts. Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff. What in hell do you want? Extrone asked. They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began. Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice. Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed? We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir. So? Extrone mocked. We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here. The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir.... Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you? Yes, sir. When we located it, sir. You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said. We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone said, To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here.And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And youcan't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway. That's why we'd like you to return to an inner planet, sir. Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. You'lllose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen.I'm quite safe here, I think. The bearer brought Extrone his drink. Get off, Extrone said quietly to the four officers. Again they turned reluctantly. This time, he did not call them back.Instead, with amusement, he watched until they disappeared into thetangle of forest. Dusk was falling. The takeoff blast of the rocket illuminated the area,casting weird shadows on the gently swaying grasses; there was a hotbreath of dry air and the rocket dwindled toward the stars. Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away,listened for it to shatter. He reached out, parted the heavy flap tohis tent. Sir? Ri said, hurrying toward him in the gathering darkness. Eh? Extrone said, turning, startled. Oh, you. Well? We ... located signs of the farn beast, sir. To the east. Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, You killed one, I believe, on your trip? Ri shifted. Yes, sir. Extrone held back the flap of the tent. Won't you come in? he askedwithout any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. The inside of the tent was luxurious. The bed was of bulky feathers,costly of transport space, the sleep curtains of silken gauze. Thefloor, heavy, portable tile blocks, not the hollow kind, were neatlyand smoothly inset into the ground. Hanging from the center, to theleft of the slender, hand-carved center pole, was a chain of crystals.They tinkled lightly when Extrone dropped the flap. The light waselectric from a portable dynamo. Extrone flipped it on. He crossed tothe bed, sat down. You were, I believe, the first ever to kill a farn beast? he said. I.... No, sir. There must have been previous hunters, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone narrowed his eyes. I see by your eyes that you areenvious—that is the word, isn't it?—of my tent. Ri looked away from his face. Perhaps I'm envious of your reputation as a hunter. You see, I havenever killed a farn beast. In fact, I haven't seen a farn beast. Ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding Extrone'sglittering ones. Few people have seen them, sir. Oh? Extrone questioned mildly. I wouldn't say that. I understandthat the aliens hunt them quite extensively ... on some of theirplanets. I meant in our system, sir. Of course you did, Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of hissleeve with his forefinger. I imagine these are the only farn beastsin our system. Ri waited uneasily, not answering. Yes, Extrone said, I imagine they are. It would have been a shame ifyou had killed the last one. Don't you think so? Ri's hands worried the sides of his outer garment. Yes, sir. It wouldhave been. Extrone pursed his lips. It wouldn't have been very considerate of youto—But, still, you gained valuable experience. I'm glad you agreed tocome along as my guide. It was an honor, sir. Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. If I had waited until it wassafe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able tofind such an illustrious guide. ... I'm flattered, sir. Of course, Extrone said. But you should have spoken to me about it,when you discovered the farn beast in our own system. I realize that, sir. That is, I had intended at the first opportunity,sir.... Of course, Extrone said dryly. Like all of my subjects, he wavedhis hand in a broad gesture, the highest as well as the lowest slave,know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best. Ri squirmed, his face pale. We do indeed love you, sir. Extrone bent forward. Know me and love me. Yes, sir. Know you and love you, sir, Ri said. Get out! Extrone said. <doc-sep>It's frightening, Ri said, to be that close to him. Mia nodded. The two of them, beneath the leaf-swollen branches of the gnarled tree,were seated on their sleeping bags. The moon was clear and cold andbright in a cloudless sky; a small moon, smooth-surfaced, except for acentral mountain ridge that bisected it into almost twin hemispheres. To think of him. As flesh and blood. Not like the—well; that—whatwe've read about. Mia glanced suspiciously around him at the shadows. You begin tounderstand a lot of things, after seeing him. Ri picked nervously at the cover of his sleeping bag. It makes you think, Mia added. He twitched. I'm afraid. I'm afraidhe'll.... Listen, we'll talk. When we get back to civilization. You,me, the bearers. About him. He can't let that happen. He'll kill usfirst. Ri looked up at the moon, shivering. No. We have friends. We haveinfluence. He couldn't just like that— He could say it was an accident. No, Ri said stubbornly. He can say anything, Mia insisted. He can make people believeanything. Whatever he says. There's no way to check on it. It's getting cold, Ri said. Listen, Mia pleaded. No, Ri said. Even if we tried to tell them, they wouldn't listen.Everybody would know we were lying. Everything they've come tobelieve would tell them we were lying. Everything they've read, everypicture they've seen. They wouldn't believe us. He knows that. Listen, Mia repeated intently. This is important. Right now hecouldn't afford to let us talk. Not right now. Because the Army isnot against him. Some officers were here, just before we came back. Abearer overheard them talking. They don't want to overthrow him! Ri's teeth, suddenly, were chattering. That's another lie, Mia continued. That he protects the people fromthe Army. That's a lie. I don't believe they were ever plottingagainst him. Not even at first. I think they helped him, don't yousee? Ri whined nervously. It's like this, Mia said. I see it like this. The Army put him inpower when the people were in rebellion against military rule. <doc-sep>Ri swallowed. We couldn't make the people believe that. No? Mia challenged. Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow?You'll see. Because I think the Army is getting ready to invade thealien system! The people won't support them, Ri answered woodenly. Think. If he tells them to, they will. They trust him. Ri looked around at the shadows. That explains a lot of things, Mia said. I think the Army's beenpreparing for this for a long time. From the first, maybe. That's whyExtrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them fromlearning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keepthem from exposing him to the people. The aliens wouldn't be fooledlike we were, so easy. No! Ri snapped. It was to keep the natural economic balance. You know that's not right. Ri lay down on his bed roll. Don't talk about it. It's not good totalk like this. I don't even want to listen. When the invasion starts, he'll have to command all their loyalties.To keep them from revolt again. They'd be ready to believe us, then.He'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying totell the truth. You're wrong. He's not like that. I know you're wrong. Mia smiled twistedly. How many has he already killed? How can we evenguess? Ri swallowed sickly. Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret? Ri shuddered. That's different. Don't you see? This is not at all likethat. <doc-sep>With morning came birds' songs, came dew, came breakfast smells.The air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike,uncontaminated. And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting theflap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared aroundthe camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep. Breakfast! he shouted, and two bearers came running with a foldingtable and chair. Behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray ofvarious foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcherand a drinking mug. Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in hisconversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth withwater and spat on the ground. Lin! he said. His personal bearer came loping toward him. Have you read that manual I gave you? Lin nodded. Yes. Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. Veryludicrous, Lin. Have you noticed that I have two businessmen forguides? It occurred to me when I got up. They would have spat on me,twenty years ago, damn them. Lin waited. Now I can spit on them, which pleases me. The farn beasts are dangerous, sir, Lin said. Eh? Oh, yes. Those. What did the manual say about them? I believe they're carnivorous, sir. An alien manual. That's ludicrous, too. That we have the onlyinformation on our newly discovered fauna from an alien manual—and, ofcourse, two businessmen. They have very long, sharp fangs, and, when enraged, are capable oftearing a man— An alien? Extrone corrected. There's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. Of tearing analien to pieces, sir. Extrone laughed harshly. It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me? Lin's face remained impassive. I guess it seems that way. Sir. Damned few people would dare go as far as you do, Extrone said. Butyou're afraid of me, too, in your own way, aren't you? Lin shrugged. Maybe. I can see you are. Even my wives are. I wonder if anyone can know howwonderful it feels to have people all afraid of you. The farn beasts, according to the manual.... You are very insistent on one subject. ... It's the only thing I know anything about. The farn beast, as Iwas saying, sir, is the particular enemy of men. Or if you like, ofaliens. Sir. All right, Extrone said, annoyed. I'll be careful. In the distance, a farn beast coughed. Instantly alert, Extrone said, Get the bearers! Have some of them cuta path through that damn thicket! And tell those two businessmen to getthe hell over here! Lin smiled, his eyes suddenly afire with the excitement of the hunt. <doc-sep>Four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. Extrone walkedleisurely, well back of the cutters, who hacked away, methodically, atthe vines and branches which might impede his forward progress. Theirsharp, awkward knives snickered rhythmically to the rasp of their heavybreathing. Occasionally, Extrone halted, motioned for his water carrier, and drankdeeply of the icy water to allay the heat of the forest, a heat madeoppressive by the press of foliage against the outside air. Ranging out, on both sides of the central body, the two businessmenfought independently against the wild growth, each scouting the flanksfor farn beasts, and ahead, beyond the cutters, Lin flittered among thetree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, apowerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustainedfire. To his rear, the water carrier was trailed by a man bearing afolding stool, and behind him, a man carrying the heavy, high-poweredtwo-way communication set. Once Extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny,arboreal mammal, which, upon the impact, shattered asunder, toExtrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. When the sun stood high and heat exhaustion made the near-naked bearersslump, Extrone permitted a rest. While waiting for the march to resume,he sat on the stool with his back against an ancient tree and patted,reflectively, the blast rifle, lying across his legs. For you, sir, the communications man said, interrupting his reverie. Damn, Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. It better beimportant. He took the head-set and mike and nodded to the bearer. Thebearer twiddled the dials. Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell botherme?... All right, so they found out I was here. You got them, didn'tyou? Blasted them right out of space, the voice crackled excitedly. Rightin the middle of a radio broadcast, sir. I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting! Extronetore off the head-set and handed it to the bearer. If they call back,find out what they want, first. I don't want to be bothered unless it'simportant. Yes, sir. Extrone squinted up at the sun; his eyes crinkled under the glare, andperspiration stood in little droplets on the back of his hands. Lin, returning to the column, threaded his way among recliningbearers. He stopped before Extrone and tossed his hair out of his eyes.I located a spoor, he said, suppressed eagerness in his voice. Abouta quarter ahead. It looks fresh. Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. There were two, Ithink. Two? Extrone grinned, petting the rifle. You and I better go forwardand look at the spoor. Lin said, We ought to take protection, if you're going, too. Extrone laughed. This is enough. He gestured with the rifle and stoodup. I wish you had let me bring a gun along, sir, Lin said. One is enough in my camp. <doc-sep>The two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. Extrone movedagilely through the tangle, following Lin closely. When they came tothe tracks, heavily pressed into drying mud around a small wateringhole, Extrone nodded his head in satisfaction. This way, Lin said, pointing, and once more the two of them startedoff. They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming morealert with each additional foot. Finally, Lin stopped him with arestraining hand. They may be quite a way ahead. Hadn't we ought tobring up the column? The farn beast, somewhere beyond a ragged clump of bushes, coughed.Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. The farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. They're moving away, Lin said. Damn! Extrone said. It's a good thing the wind's right, or they'd be coming back, andfast, too. Eh? Extrone said. They charge on scent, sight, or sound. I understand they will trackdown a man for as long as a day. Wait, Extrone said, combing his beard. Wait a minute. Yes? Look, Extrone said. If that's the case, why do we bother trackingthem? Why not make them come to us? They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather havesurprise on our side. You don't seem to see what I mean, Extrone said. We won't bethe—ah—the bait. Oh? Let's get back to the column. <doc-sep>Extrone wants to see you, Lin said. Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy.What's he want to see me for? I don't know, Lin said curtly. Ri got to his feet. One of his hands reached out, plucked nervouslyat Lin's bare forearm. Look, he whispered. You know him. I have—alittle money. If you were able to ... if he wants, Ri gulped, to do anything to me—I'd pay you, if you could.... You better come along, Lin said, turning. Ri rubbed his hands along his thighs; he sighed, a tiny sound,ineffectual. He followed Lin beyond an outcropping of shale to whereExtrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. The farn beast hunter, eh? Yes, sir. Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. Tell mewhat they look like, he said suddenly. Well, sir, they're ... uh.... Pretty frightening? No, sir.... Well, in a way, sir. But you weren't afraid of them, were you? No, sir. No, because.... Extrone was smiling innocently. Good. I want you to do something forme. I ... I.... Ri glanced nervously at Lin out of the tail of his eye.Lin's face was impassive. Of course you will, Extrone said genially. Get me a rope, Lin. Agood, long, strong rope. What are you going to do? Ri asked, terrified. Why, I'm going to tie the rope around your waist and stake you out asbait. No! Oh, come now. When the farn beast hears you scream—you can scream,by the way? Ri swallowed. We could find a way to make you. There was perspiration trickling down Ri's forehead, a single drop,creeping toward his nose. You'll be safe, Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. I'llshoot the animal before it reaches you. Ri gulped for air. But ... if there should be more than one? Extrone shrugged. I—Look, sir. Listen to me. Ri's lips were bloodless and his handswere trembling. It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. He killed a farn beast before I did, sir. And last night—lastnight, he— He what? Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. Ri breathed with a gurgling sound. He said he ought to kill you, sir.That's what he said. I heard him, sir. He said he ought to kill you.He's the one you ought to use for bait. Then if there was an accident,sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. Iwouldn't.... Extrone said, Which one is he? That one. Right over there. The one with his back to me? Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir. Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifleand said, Here comes Lin with the rope, I see. Ri was greenish. You ... you.... Extrone turned to Lin. Tie one end around his waist. Wait, Ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. You don'twant to use me, sir. Not after I told you.... Please, sir. If anythingshould happen to me.... Please, sir. Don't do it. Tie it, Extrone ordered. No, sir. Please. Oh, please don't, sir. Tie it, Extrone said inexorably. Lin bent with the rope; his face was colorless. <doc-sep>They were at the watering hole—Extrone, Lin, two bearers, and Ri. Since the hole was drying, the left, partially exposed bank was steeptoward the muddy water. Upon it was green, new grass, tender-tuffed,half mashed in places by heavy animal treads. It was there that theystaked him out, tying the free end of the rope tightly around the baseof a scaling tree. You will scream, Extrone instructed. With his rifle, he pointedacross the water hole. The farn beast will come from this direction, Iimagine. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. Let me hear you scream, Extrone said. Ri moaned weakly. You'll have to do better than that. Extrone inclined his head towarda bearer, who used something Ri couldn't see. Ri screamed. See that you keep it up that way, Extrone said. That's the way Iwant you to sound. He turned toward Lin. We can climb this tree, Ithink. Slowly, aided by the bearers, the two men climbed the tree, barkpeeling away from under their rough boots. Ri watched them hopelessly. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert.Lin moved to the left, out on the main branch, rested in a smallercrotch. Looking down, Extrone said, Scream! Then, to Lin, You feel theexcitement? It's always in the air like this at a hunt. I feel it, Lin said. Extrone chuckled. You were with me on Meizque? Yes. That was something, that time. He ran his hand along the stock of theweapon. The sun headed west, veiling itself with trees; a large insect circledExtrone's head. He slapped at it, angry. The forest was quiet,underlined by an occasional piping call, something like a whistle. Ri'sscreams were shrill, echoing away, shiveringly. Lin sat quiet, hunched. Extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick,jerky movements. Lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Extrone'sface. The sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed againstthem, sucking at their breath like a vacuum. The insect went away.Still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, Ri screamed. <doc-sep>A farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest. Extrone laughed nervously. He must have heard. We're lucky to rouse one so fast, Lin said. Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. I likethis. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything Iknow. Lin nodded. The waiting, itself, is a lot. The suspense. It's not only the killingthat matters. It's not only the killing, Lin echoed. You understand? Extrone said. How it is to wait, knowing in just aminute something is going to come out of the forest, and you're goingto kill it? I know, Lin said. But it's not only the killing. It's the waiting, too. The farn beast coughed again; nearer. It's a different one, Lin said. How do you know? Hear the lower pitch, the more of a roar? Hey! Extrone shouted. You, down there. There are two coming. Nowlet's hear you really scream! Ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tethertree, his eyes wide. There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too, Extrone said.Making them come to your bait, where you can get at them. Heopened his right hand. Choose your ground, set your trap. Bait it.He snapped his hand into a fist, held the fist up before his eyes,imprisoning the idea. Spring the trap when the quarry is inside.Clever. That makes the waiting more interesting. Waiting to see if theyreally will come to your bait. Lin shifted, staring toward the forest. I've always liked to hunt, Extrone said. More than anything else, Ithink. Lin spat toward the ground. People should hunt because they have to.For food. For safety. No, Extrone argued. People should hunt for the love of hunting. Killing? Hunting, Extrone repeated harshly. <doc-sep>The farn beast coughed. Another answered. They were very near, andthere was a noise of crackling underbrush. He's good bait, Extrone said. He's fat enough and he knows how toscream good. Ri had stopped screaming; he was huddled against the tree, fearfullyeying the forest across from the watering hole. Extrone began to tremble with excitement. Here they come! The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across hislap. The farn beast, its tiny eyes red with hate, stepped out on the bank,swinging its head wildly, its nostrils flaring in anger. It coughed.Its mate appeared beside it. Their tails thrashed against the scrubsbehind them, rattling leaves. Shoot! Lin hissed. For God's sake, shoot! Wait, Extrone said. Let's see what they do. He had not movedthe rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breathbeginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. The lead farn beast sighted Ri. It lowered its head. Look! Extrone cried excitedly. Here it comes! Ri began to scream again. Still Extrone did not lift his blast rifle. He was laughing. Linwaited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. The farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwinga sheet of it to either side, headed across toward Ri. Watch! Watch! Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the farn beast and its significance?

The farn beast is capable of killing humans and aliens. It resides on alien planets, but is rare within the human-occupied system. It is thought by Extrone that Ri may have been one of the only humans to ever see and shoot one.They are described as having long fangs and being carnivorous. Their main sound is a coughing noise, which can be used to locate how far away they are. They do indeed seem attracted to humans, as they are drawn to Ri screaming when he is placed as bait at the watering hole.The farn beast is significant, because as Extrone and his party are focused on hunting them, it is revealed that the beast itself is being used as bait by aliens to lure Extrone to the planet.

What is the relationship like between Lin and Extrone? [SEP] <s> HUNT the HUNTER BY KRIS NEVILLE Illustrated by ELIZABETH MacINTYRE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Of course using live bait is the best way to lure dangerous alien animals ... unless it turns out that you are the bait! We're somewhat to the south, I think, Ri said, bending over the crudefield map. That ridge, he pointed, on our left, is right here. Hedrew a finger down the map. It was over here, he moved the finger,over the ridge, north of here, that we sighted them. Extrone asked, Is there a pass? Ri looked up, studying the terrain. He moved his shoulders. I don'tknow, but maybe they range this far. Maybe they're on this side of theridge, too. Delicately, Extrone raised a hand to his beard. I'd hate to lose a daycrossing the ridge, he said. Yes, sir, Ri said. Suddenly he threw back his head. Listen! Eh? Extrone said. Hear it? That cough? I think that's one, from over there. Right upahead of us. Extrone raised his eyebrows. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. It is! Ri said. It's a farn beast, all right! Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. I'mglad we won't have to cross the ridge. Ri wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. Yes, sir. We'll pitch camp right here, then, Extrone said. We'll go after ittomorrow. He looked at the sky. Have the bearers hurry. Yes, sir. Ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. You, there! he called.Pitch camp, here! He crossed to Mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into Extrone'sparty as guides. Once more, Ri addressed the bearers, Be quick, now!And to Mia, God almighty, he was getting mad. He ran a hand under hiscollar. It's a good thing that farn beast sounded off when it did. I'dhate to think of making him climb that ridge. Mia glanced nervously over his shoulder. It's that damned pilot'sfault for setting us down on this side. I told him it was the otherside. I told him so. Ri shrugged hopelessly. Mia said, I don't think he even saw a blast area over here. I think hewanted to get us in trouble. There shouldn't be one. There shouldn't be a blast area on this sideof the ridge, too. That's what I mean. The pilot don't like businessmen. He had it in forus. Ri cleared his throat nervously. Maybe you're right. It's the Hunting Club he don't like. I wish to God I'd never heard of a farn beast, Ri said. At least,then, I wouldn't be one of his guides. Why didn't he hire somebodyelse? <doc-sep>Mia looked at his companion. He spat. What hurts most, he pays us forit. I could buy half this planet, and he makes me his guide—at lessthan I pay my secretary. Well, anyway, we won't have to cross that ridge. Hey, you! Extrone called. The two of them turned immediately. You two scout ahead, Extrone said. See if you can pick up sometracks. Yes, sir, Ri said, and instantly the two of them readjusted theirshoulder straps and started off. Shortly they were inside of the scrub forest, safe from sight. Let'swait here, Mia said. No, we better go on. He may have sent a spy in. They pushed on, being careful to blaze the trees, because they were notprofessional guides. We don't want to get too near, Ri said after toiling through theforest for many minutes. Without guns, we don't want to get nearenough for the farn beast to charge us. They stopped. The forest was dense, the vines clinging. He'll want the bearers to hack a path for him, Mia said. But we goit alone. Damn him. Ri twisted his mouth into a sour frown. He wiped at his forehead. Hot.By God, it's hot. I didn't think it was this hot, the first time wewere here. Mia said, The first time, we weren't guides. We didn't notice it somuch then. They fought a few yards more into the forest. Then it ended. Or, rather, there was a wide gap. Before them lay ablast area, unmistakable. The grass was beginning to grow again, butthe tree stumps were roasted from the rocket breath. This isn't ours! Ri said. This looks like it was made nearly a yearago! Mia's eyes narrowed. The military from Xnile? No, Ri said. They don't have any rockets this small. And I don'tthink there's another cargo rocket on this planet outside of the one weleased from the Club. Except the one he brought. The ones who discovered the farn beasts in the first place? Miaasked. You think it's their blast? So? Ri said. But who are they? <doc-sep>It was Mia's turn to shrug. Whoever they were, they couldn't have beenhunters. They'd have kept the secret better. We didn't do so damned well. We didn't have a chance, Mia objected. Everybody and his brother hadheard the rumor that farn beasts were somewhere around here. It wasn'tour fault Extrone found out. I wish we hadn't shot our guide, then. I wish he was here instead ofus. Mia shook perspiration out of his eyes. We should have shot our pilot,too. That was our mistake. The pilot must have been the one who toldExtrone we'd hunted this area. I didn't think a Club pilot would do that. After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going tothe alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute. There was perspiration on Ri's upper lip. I didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking, Mia said. Ri's mouth twisted. I didn't say you did. Listen, Mia said in a hoarse whisper. I just thought. Listen. Tohell with how he found out. Here's the point. Maybe he'll shoot us,too, when the hunt's over. Ri licked his lips. No. He wouldn't do that. We're not—not justanybody. He couldn't kill us like that. Not even him . And besides,why would he want to do that? It wouldn't do any good to shoot us. Toomany people already know about the farn beasts. You said that yourself. Mia said, I hope you're right. They stood side by side, studying theblast area in silence. Finally, Mia said, We better be getting back. What'll we tell him? That we saw tracks. What else can we tell him? They turned back along their trail, stumbling over vines. It gets hotter at sunset, Ri said nervously. The breeze dies down. It's screwy. I didn't think farn beasts had this wide a range. Theremust be a lot of them, to be on both sides of the ridge like this. There may be a pass, Mia said, pushing a vine away. Ri wrinkled his brow, panting. I guess that's it. If there were a lotof them, we'd have heard something before we did. But even so, it'sdamned funny, when you think about it. Mia looked up at the darkening sky. We better hurry, he said. <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts. Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff. What in hell do you want? Extrone asked. They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began. Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice. Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed? We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir. So? Extrone mocked. We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here. The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir.... Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you? Yes, sir. When we located it, sir. You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said. We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone said, To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here.And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And youcan't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway. That's why we'd like you to return to an inner planet, sir. Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. You'lllose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen.I'm quite safe here, I think. The bearer brought Extrone his drink. Get off, Extrone said quietly to the four officers. Again they turned reluctantly. This time, he did not call them back.Instead, with amusement, he watched until they disappeared into thetangle of forest. Dusk was falling. The takeoff blast of the rocket illuminated the area,casting weird shadows on the gently swaying grasses; there was a hotbreath of dry air and the rocket dwindled toward the stars. Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away,listened for it to shatter. He reached out, parted the heavy flap tohis tent. Sir? Ri said, hurrying toward him in the gathering darkness. Eh? Extrone said, turning, startled. Oh, you. Well? We ... located signs of the farn beast, sir. To the east. Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, You killed one, I believe, on your trip? Ri shifted. Yes, sir. Extrone held back the flap of the tent. Won't you come in? he askedwithout any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. The inside of the tent was luxurious. The bed was of bulky feathers,costly of transport space, the sleep curtains of silken gauze. Thefloor, heavy, portable tile blocks, not the hollow kind, were neatlyand smoothly inset into the ground. Hanging from the center, to theleft of the slender, hand-carved center pole, was a chain of crystals.They tinkled lightly when Extrone dropped the flap. The light waselectric from a portable dynamo. Extrone flipped it on. He crossed tothe bed, sat down. You were, I believe, the first ever to kill a farn beast? he said. I.... No, sir. There must have been previous hunters, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone narrowed his eyes. I see by your eyes that you areenvious—that is the word, isn't it?—of my tent. Ri looked away from his face. Perhaps I'm envious of your reputation as a hunter. You see, I havenever killed a farn beast. In fact, I haven't seen a farn beast. Ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding Extrone'sglittering ones. Few people have seen them, sir. Oh? Extrone questioned mildly. I wouldn't say that. I understandthat the aliens hunt them quite extensively ... on some of theirplanets. I meant in our system, sir. Of course you did, Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of hissleeve with his forefinger. I imagine these are the only farn beastsin our system. Ri waited uneasily, not answering. Yes, Extrone said, I imagine they are. It would have been a shame ifyou had killed the last one. Don't you think so? Ri's hands worried the sides of his outer garment. Yes, sir. It wouldhave been. Extrone pursed his lips. It wouldn't have been very considerate of youto—But, still, you gained valuable experience. I'm glad you agreed tocome along as my guide. It was an honor, sir. Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. If I had waited until it wassafe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able tofind such an illustrious guide. ... I'm flattered, sir. Of course, Extrone said. But you should have spoken to me about it,when you discovered the farn beast in our own system. I realize that, sir. That is, I had intended at the first opportunity,sir.... Of course, Extrone said dryly. Like all of my subjects, he wavedhis hand in a broad gesture, the highest as well as the lowest slave,know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best. Ri squirmed, his face pale. We do indeed love you, sir. Extrone bent forward. Know me and love me. Yes, sir. Know you and love you, sir, Ri said. Get out! Extrone said. <doc-sep>It's frightening, Ri said, to be that close to him. Mia nodded. The two of them, beneath the leaf-swollen branches of the gnarled tree,were seated on their sleeping bags. The moon was clear and cold andbright in a cloudless sky; a small moon, smooth-surfaced, except for acentral mountain ridge that bisected it into almost twin hemispheres. To think of him. As flesh and blood. Not like the—well; that—whatwe've read about. Mia glanced suspiciously around him at the shadows. You begin tounderstand a lot of things, after seeing him. Ri picked nervously at the cover of his sleeping bag. It makes you think, Mia added. He twitched. I'm afraid. I'm afraidhe'll.... Listen, we'll talk. When we get back to civilization. You,me, the bearers. About him. He can't let that happen. He'll kill usfirst. Ri looked up at the moon, shivering. No. We have friends. We haveinfluence. He couldn't just like that— He could say it was an accident. No, Ri said stubbornly. He can say anything, Mia insisted. He can make people believeanything. Whatever he says. There's no way to check on it. It's getting cold, Ri said. Listen, Mia pleaded. No, Ri said. Even if we tried to tell them, they wouldn't listen.Everybody would know we were lying. Everything they've come tobelieve would tell them we were lying. Everything they've read, everypicture they've seen. They wouldn't believe us. He knows that. Listen, Mia repeated intently. This is important. Right now hecouldn't afford to let us talk. Not right now. Because the Army isnot against him. Some officers were here, just before we came back. Abearer overheard them talking. They don't want to overthrow him! Ri's teeth, suddenly, were chattering. That's another lie, Mia continued. That he protects the people fromthe Army. That's a lie. I don't believe they were ever plottingagainst him. Not even at first. I think they helped him, don't yousee? Ri whined nervously. It's like this, Mia said. I see it like this. The Army put him inpower when the people were in rebellion against military rule. <doc-sep>Ri swallowed. We couldn't make the people believe that. No? Mia challenged. Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow?You'll see. Because I think the Army is getting ready to invade thealien system! The people won't support them, Ri answered woodenly. Think. If he tells them to, they will. They trust him. Ri looked around at the shadows. That explains a lot of things, Mia said. I think the Army's beenpreparing for this for a long time. From the first, maybe. That's whyExtrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them fromlearning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keepthem from exposing him to the people. The aliens wouldn't be fooledlike we were, so easy. No! Ri snapped. It was to keep the natural economic balance. You know that's not right. Ri lay down on his bed roll. Don't talk about it. It's not good totalk like this. I don't even want to listen. When the invasion starts, he'll have to command all their loyalties.To keep them from revolt again. They'd be ready to believe us, then.He'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying totell the truth. You're wrong. He's not like that. I know you're wrong. Mia smiled twistedly. How many has he already killed? How can we evenguess? Ri swallowed sickly. Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret? Ri shuddered. That's different. Don't you see? This is not at all likethat. <doc-sep>With morning came birds' songs, came dew, came breakfast smells.The air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike,uncontaminated. And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting theflap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared aroundthe camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep. Breakfast! he shouted, and two bearers came running with a foldingtable and chair. Behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray ofvarious foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcherand a drinking mug. Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in hisconversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth withwater and spat on the ground. Lin! he said. His personal bearer came loping toward him. Have you read that manual I gave you? Lin nodded. Yes. Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. Veryludicrous, Lin. Have you noticed that I have two businessmen forguides? It occurred to me when I got up. They would have spat on me,twenty years ago, damn them. Lin waited. Now I can spit on them, which pleases me. The farn beasts are dangerous, sir, Lin said. Eh? Oh, yes. Those. What did the manual say about them? I believe they're carnivorous, sir. An alien manual. That's ludicrous, too. That we have the onlyinformation on our newly discovered fauna from an alien manual—and, ofcourse, two businessmen. They have very long, sharp fangs, and, when enraged, are capable oftearing a man— An alien? Extrone corrected. There's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. Of tearing analien to pieces, sir. Extrone laughed harshly. It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me? Lin's face remained impassive. I guess it seems that way. Sir. Damned few people would dare go as far as you do, Extrone said. Butyou're afraid of me, too, in your own way, aren't you? Lin shrugged. Maybe. I can see you are. Even my wives are. I wonder if anyone can know howwonderful it feels to have people all afraid of you. The farn beasts, according to the manual.... You are very insistent on one subject. ... It's the only thing I know anything about. The farn beast, as Iwas saying, sir, is the particular enemy of men. Or if you like, ofaliens. Sir. All right, Extrone said, annoyed. I'll be careful. In the distance, a farn beast coughed. Instantly alert, Extrone said, Get the bearers! Have some of them cuta path through that damn thicket! And tell those two businessmen to getthe hell over here! Lin smiled, his eyes suddenly afire with the excitement of the hunt. <doc-sep>Four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. Extrone walkedleisurely, well back of the cutters, who hacked away, methodically, atthe vines and branches which might impede his forward progress. Theirsharp, awkward knives snickered rhythmically to the rasp of their heavybreathing. Occasionally, Extrone halted, motioned for his water carrier, and drankdeeply of the icy water to allay the heat of the forest, a heat madeoppressive by the press of foliage against the outside air. Ranging out, on both sides of the central body, the two businessmenfought independently against the wild growth, each scouting the flanksfor farn beasts, and ahead, beyond the cutters, Lin flittered among thetree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, apowerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustainedfire. To his rear, the water carrier was trailed by a man bearing afolding stool, and behind him, a man carrying the heavy, high-poweredtwo-way communication set. Once Extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny,arboreal mammal, which, upon the impact, shattered asunder, toExtrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. When the sun stood high and heat exhaustion made the near-naked bearersslump, Extrone permitted a rest. While waiting for the march to resume,he sat on the stool with his back against an ancient tree and patted,reflectively, the blast rifle, lying across his legs. For you, sir, the communications man said, interrupting his reverie. Damn, Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. It better beimportant. He took the head-set and mike and nodded to the bearer. Thebearer twiddled the dials. Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell botherme?... All right, so they found out I was here. You got them, didn'tyou? Blasted them right out of space, the voice crackled excitedly. Rightin the middle of a radio broadcast, sir. I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting! Extronetore off the head-set and handed it to the bearer. If they call back,find out what they want, first. I don't want to be bothered unless it'simportant. Yes, sir. Extrone squinted up at the sun; his eyes crinkled under the glare, andperspiration stood in little droplets on the back of his hands. Lin, returning to the column, threaded his way among recliningbearers. He stopped before Extrone and tossed his hair out of his eyes.I located a spoor, he said, suppressed eagerness in his voice. Abouta quarter ahead. It looks fresh. Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. There were two, Ithink. Two? Extrone grinned, petting the rifle. You and I better go forwardand look at the spoor. Lin said, We ought to take protection, if you're going, too. Extrone laughed. This is enough. He gestured with the rifle and stoodup. I wish you had let me bring a gun along, sir, Lin said. One is enough in my camp. <doc-sep>The two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. Extrone movedagilely through the tangle, following Lin closely. When they came tothe tracks, heavily pressed into drying mud around a small wateringhole, Extrone nodded his head in satisfaction. This way, Lin said, pointing, and once more the two of them startedoff. They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming morealert with each additional foot. Finally, Lin stopped him with arestraining hand. They may be quite a way ahead. Hadn't we ought tobring up the column? The farn beast, somewhere beyond a ragged clump of bushes, coughed.Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. The farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. They're moving away, Lin said. Damn! Extrone said. It's a good thing the wind's right, or they'd be coming back, andfast, too. Eh? Extrone said. They charge on scent, sight, or sound. I understand they will trackdown a man for as long as a day. Wait, Extrone said, combing his beard. Wait a minute. Yes? Look, Extrone said. If that's the case, why do we bother trackingthem? Why not make them come to us? They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather havesurprise on our side. You don't seem to see what I mean, Extrone said. We won't bethe—ah—the bait. Oh? Let's get back to the column. <doc-sep>Extrone wants to see you, Lin said. Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy.What's he want to see me for? I don't know, Lin said curtly. Ri got to his feet. One of his hands reached out, plucked nervouslyat Lin's bare forearm. Look, he whispered. You know him. I have—alittle money. If you were able to ... if he wants, Ri gulped, to do anything to me—I'd pay you, if you could.... You better come along, Lin said, turning. Ri rubbed his hands along his thighs; he sighed, a tiny sound,ineffectual. He followed Lin beyond an outcropping of shale to whereExtrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. The farn beast hunter, eh? Yes, sir. Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. Tell mewhat they look like, he said suddenly. Well, sir, they're ... uh.... Pretty frightening? No, sir.... Well, in a way, sir. But you weren't afraid of them, were you? No, sir. No, because.... Extrone was smiling innocently. Good. I want you to do something forme. I ... I.... Ri glanced nervously at Lin out of the tail of his eye.Lin's face was impassive. Of course you will, Extrone said genially. Get me a rope, Lin. Agood, long, strong rope. What are you going to do? Ri asked, terrified. Why, I'm going to tie the rope around your waist and stake you out asbait. No! Oh, come now. When the farn beast hears you scream—you can scream,by the way? Ri swallowed. We could find a way to make you. There was perspiration trickling down Ri's forehead, a single drop,creeping toward his nose. You'll be safe, Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. I'llshoot the animal before it reaches you. Ri gulped for air. But ... if there should be more than one? Extrone shrugged. I—Look, sir. Listen to me. Ri's lips were bloodless and his handswere trembling. It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. He killed a farn beast before I did, sir. And last night—lastnight, he— He what? Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. Ri breathed with a gurgling sound. He said he ought to kill you, sir.That's what he said. I heard him, sir. He said he ought to kill you.He's the one you ought to use for bait. Then if there was an accident,sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. Iwouldn't.... Extrone said, Which one is he? That one. Right over there. The one with his back to me? Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir. Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifleand said, Here comes Lin with the rope, I see. Ri was greenish. You ... you.... Extrone turned to Lin. Tie one end around his waist. Wait, Ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. You don'twant to use me, sir. Not after I told you.... Please, sir. If anythingshould happen to me.... Please, sir. Don't do it. Tie it, Extrone ordered. No, sir. Please. Oh, please don't, sir. Tie it, Extrone said inexorably. Lin bent with the rope; his face was colorless. <doc-sep>They were at the watering hole—Extrone, Lin, two bearers, and Ri. Since the hole was drying, the left, partially exposed bank was steeptoward the muddy water. Upon it was green, new grass, tender-tuffed,half mashed in places by heavy animal treads. It was there that theystaked him out, tying the free end of the rope tightly around the baseof a scaling tree. You will scream, Extrone instructed. With his rifle, he pointedacross the water hole. The farn beast will come from this direction, Iimagine. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. Let me hear you scream, Extrone said. Ri moaned weakly. You'll have to do better than that. Extrone inclined his head towarda bearer, who used something Ri couldn't see. Ri screamed. See that you keep it up that way, Extrone said. That's the way Iwant you to sound. He turned toward Lin. We can climb this tree, Ithink. Slowly, aided by the bearers, the two men climbed the tree, barkpeeling away from under their rough boots. Ri watched them hopelessly. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert.Lin moved to the left, out on the main branch, rested in a smallercrotch. Looking down, Extrone said, Scream! Then, to Lin, You feel theexcitement? It's always in the air like this at a hunt. I feel it, Lin said. Extrone chuckled. You were with me on Meizque? Yes. That was something, that time. He ran his hand along the stock of theweapon. The sun headed west, veiling itself with trees; a large insect circledExtrone's head. He slapped at it, angry. The forest was quiet,underlined by an occasional piping call, something like a whistle. Ri'sscreams were shrill, echoing away, shiveringly. Lin sat quiet, hunched. Extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick,jerky movements. Lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Extrone'sface. The sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed againstthem, sucking at their breath like a vacuum. The insect went away.Still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, Ri screamed. <doc-sep>A farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest. Extrone laughed nervously. He must have heard. We're lucky to rouse one so fast, Lin said. Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. I likethis. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything Iknow. Lin nodded. The waiting, itself, is a lot. The suspense. It's not only the killingthat matters. It's not only the killing, Lin echoed. You understand? Extrone said. How it is to wait, knowing in just aminute something is going to come out of the forest, and you're goingto kill it? I know, Lin said. But it's not only the killing. It's the waiting, too. The farn beast coughed again; nearer. It's a different one, Lin said. How do you know? Hear the lower pitch, the more of a roar? Hey! Extrone shouted. You, down there. There are two coming. Nowlet's hear you really scream! Ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tethertree, his eyes wide. There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too, Extrone said.Making them come to your bait, where you can get at them. Heopened his right hand. Choose your ground, set your trap. Bait it.He snapped his hand into a fist, held the fist up before his eyes,imprisoning the idea. Spring the trap when the quarry is inside.Clever. That makes the waiting more interesting. Waiting to see if theyreally will come to your bait. Lin shifted, staring toward the forest. I've always liked to hunt, Extrone said. More than anything else, Ithink. Lin spat toward the ground. People should hunt because they have to.For food. For safety. No, Extrone argued. People should hunt for the love of hunting. Killing? Hunting, Extrone repeated harshly. <doc-sep>The farn beast coughed. Another answered. They were very near, andthere was a noise of crackling underbrush. He's good bait, Extrone said. He's fat enough and he knows how toscream good. Ri had stopped screaming; he was huddled against the tree, fearfullyeying the forest across from the watering hole. Extrone began to tremble with excitement. Here they come! The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across hislap. The farn beast, its tiny eyes red with hate, stepped out on the bank,swinging its head wildly, its nostrils flaring in anger. It coughed.Its mate appeared beside it. Their tails thrashed against the scrubsbehind them, rattling leaves. Shoot! Lin hissed. For God's sake, shoot! Wait, Extrone said. Let's see what they do. He had not movedthe rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breathbeginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. The lead farn beast sighted Ri. It lowered its head. Look! Extrone cried excitedly. Here it comes! Ri began to scream again. Still Extrone did not lift his blast rifle. He was laughing. Linwaited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. The farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwinga sheet of it to either side, headed across toward Ri. Watch! Watch! Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship like between Lin and Extrone?

Lin is Extrone’s personal bearer who does anything that is asked of him by Extrone. Extrone is pleased when people are fearful of him, but it appears that Lin may not have a fear or may be suppressing it. Lin appears very loyal to Extrone, which is proven when he rejects an attempt of bribery by Ri who wants to know if he is in danger by Extrone’s plan. Lin does Extrone’s bidding by tying up Ri and staking him out for bait to lure the farn beast.However, when Lin and Extrone hide in a nearby tree to shoot the farn beast when they come after Ri, Lin’s actions become more sinister and it is revealed that he may have different beliefs from Extrone. Lin says hunting animals should be done for reasons like survival, not just for killing - which is the opposite of what Extrone believes - that the waiting and then the killing is the appeal. It is never clear if Lin is part of the alien trapping of Extrone that results, or whether he was as blind to it as Extrone.

What settings does the story take place in? [SEP] <s> HUNT the HUNTER BY KRIS NEVILLE Illustrated by ELIZABETH MacINTYRE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Of course using live bait is the best way to lure dangerous alien animals ... unless it turns out that you are the bait! We're somewhat to the south, I think, Ri said, bending over the crudefield map. That ridge, he pointed, on our left, is right here. Hedrew a finger down the map. It was over here, he moved the finger,over the ridge, north of here, that we sighted them. Extrone asked, Is there a pass? Ri looked up, studying the terrain. He moved his shoulders. I don'tknow, but maybe they range this far. Maybe they're on this side of theridge, too. Delicately, Extrone raised a hand to his beard. I'd hate to lose a daycrossing the ridge, he said. Yes, sir, Ri said. Suddenly he threw back his head. Listen! Eh? Extrone said. Hear it? That cough? I think that's one, from over there. Right upahead of us. Extrone raised his eyebrows. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. It is! Ri said. It's a farn beast, all right! Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. I'mglad we won't have to cross the ridge. Ri wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. Yes, sir. We'll pitch camp right here, then, Extrone said. We'll go after ittomorrow. He looked at the sky. Have the bearers hurry. Yes, sir. Ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. You, there! he called.Pitch camp, here! He crossed to Mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into Extrone'sparty as guides. Once more, Ri addressed the bearers, Be quick, now!And to Mia, God almighty, he was getting mad. He ran a hand under hiscollar. It's a good thing that farn beast sounded off when it did. I'dhate to think of making him climb that ridge. Mia glanced nervously over his shoulder. It's that damned pilot'sfault for setting us down on this side. I told him it was the otherside. I told him so. Ri shrugged hopelessly. Mia said, I don't think he even saw a blast area over here. I think hewanted to get us in trouble. There shouldn't be one. There shouldn't be a blast area on this sideof the ridge, too. That's what I mean. The pilot don't like businessmen. He had it in forus. Ri cleared his throat nervously. Maybe you're right. It's the Hunting Club he don't like. I wish to God I'd never heard of a farn beast, Ri said. At least,then, I wouldn't be one of his guides. Why didn't he hire somebodyelse? <doc-sep>Mia looked at his companion. He spat. What hurts most, he pays us forit. I could buy half this planet, and he makes me his guide—at lessthan I pay my secretary. Well, anyway, we won't have to cross that ridge. Hey, you! Extrone called. The two of them turned immediately. You two scout ahead, Extrone said. See if you can pick up sometracks. Yes, sir, Ri said, and instantly the two of them readjusted theirshoulder straps and started off. Shortly they were inside of the scrub forest, safe from sight. Let'swait here, Mia said. No, we better go on. He may have sent a spy in. They pushed on, being careful to blaze the trees, because they were notprofessional guides. We don't want to get too near, Ri said after toiling through theforest for many minutes. Without guns, we don't want to get nearenough for the farn beast to charge us. They stopped. The forest was dense, the vines clinging. He'll want the bearers to hack a path for him, Mia said. But we goit alone. Damn him. Ri twisted his mouth into a sour frown. He wiped at his forehead. Hot.By God, it's hot. I didn't think it was this hot, the first time wewere here. Mia said, The first time, we weren't guides. We didn't notice it somuch then. They fought a few yards more into the forest. Then it ended. Or, rather, there was a wide gap. Before them lay ablast area, unmistakable. The grass was beginning to grow again, butthe tree stumps were roasted from the rocket breath. This isn't ours! Ri said. This looks like it was made nearly a yearago! Mia's eyes narrowed. The military from Xnile? No, Ri said. They don't have any rockets this small. And I don'tthink there's another cargo rocket on this planet outside of the one weleased from the Club. Except the one he brought. The ones who discovered the farn beasts in the first place? Miaasked. You think it's their blast? So? Ri said. But who are they? <doc-sep>It was Mia's turn to shrug. Whoever they were, they couldn't have beenhunters. They'd have kept the secret better. We didn't do so damned well. We didn't have a chance, Mia objected. Everybody and his brother hadheard the rumor that farn beasts were somewhere around here. It wasn'tour fault Extrone found out. I wish we hadn't shot our guide, then. I wish he was here instead ofus. Mia shook perspiration out of his eyes. We should have shot our pilot,too. That was our mistake. The pilot must have been the one who toldExtrone we'd hunted this area. I didn't think a Club pilot would do that. After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going tothe alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute. There was perspiration on Ri's upper lip. I didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking, Mia said. Ri's mouth twisted. I didn't say you did. Listen, Mia said in a hoarse whisper. I just thought. Listen. Tohell with how he found out. Here's the point. Maybe he'll shoot us,too, when the hunt's over. Ri licked his lips. No. He wouldn't do that. We're not—not justanybody. He couldn't kill us like that. Not even him . And besides,why would he want to do that? It wouldn't do any good to shoot us. Toomany people already know about the farn beasts. You said that yourself. Mia said, I hope you're right. They stood side by side, studying theblast area in silence. Finally, Mia said, We better be getting back. What'll we tell him? That we saw tracks. What else can we tell him? They turned back along their trail, stumbling over vines. It gets hotter at sunset, Ri said nervously. The breeze dies down. It's screwy. I didn't think farn beasts had this wide a range. Theremust be a lot of them, to be on both sides of the ridge like this. There may be a pass, Mia said, pushing a vine away. Ri wrinkled his brow, panting. I guess that's it. If there were a lotof them, we'd have heard something before we did. But even so, it'sdamned funny, when you think about it. Mia looked up at the darkening sky. We better hurry, he said. <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts. Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff. What in hell do you want? Extrone asked. They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began. Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice. Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed? We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir. So? Extrone mocked. We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here. The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir.... Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you? Yes, sir. When we located it, sir. You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said. We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone said, To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here.And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And youcan't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway. That's why we'd like you to return to an inner planet, sir. Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. You'lllose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen.I'm quite safe here, I think. The bearer brought Extrone his drink. Get off, Extrone said quietly to the four officers. Again they turned reluctantly. This time, he did not call them back.Instead, with amusement, he watched until they disappeared into thetangle of forest. Dusk was falling. The takeoff blast of the rocket illuminated the area,casting weird shadows on the gently swaying grasses; there was a hotbreath of dry air and the rocket dwindled toward the stars. Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away,listened for it to shatter. He reached out, parted the heavy flap tohis tent. Sir? Ri said, hurrying toward him in the gathering darkness. Eh? Extrone said, turning, startled. Oh, you. Well? We ... located signs of the farn beast, sir. To the east. Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, You killed one, I believe, on your trip? Ri shifted. Yes, sir. Extrone held back the flap of the tent. Won't you come in? he askedwithout any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. The inside of the tent was luxurious. The bed was of bulky feathers,costly of transport space, the sleep curtains of silken gauze. Thefloor, heavy, portable tile blocks, not the hollow kind, were neatlyand smoothly inset into the ground. Hanging from the center, to theleft of the slender, hand-carved center pole, was a chain of crystals.They tinkled lightly when Extrone dropped the flap. The light waselectric from a portable dynamo. Extrone flipped it on. He crossed tothe bed, sat down. You were, I believe, the first ever to kill a farn beast? he said. I.... No, sir. There must have been previous hunters, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone narrowed his eyes. I see by your eyes that you areenvious—that is the word, isn't it?—of my tent. Ri looked away from his face. Perhaps I'm envious of your reputation as a hunter. You see, I havenever killed a farn beast. In fact, I haven't seen a farn beast. Ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding Extrone'sglittering ones. Few people have seen them, sir. Oh? Extrone questioned mildly. I wouldn't say that. I understandthat the aliens hunt them quite extensively ... on some of theirplanets. I meant in our system, sir. Of course you did, Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of hissleeve with his forefinger. I imagine these are the only farn beastsin our system. Ri waited uneasily, not answering. Yes, Extrone said, I imagine they are. It would have been a shame ifyou had killed the last one. Don't you think so? Ri's hands worried the sides of his outer garment. Yes, sir. It wouldhave been. Extrone pursed his lips. It wouldn't have been very considerate of youto—But, still, you gained valuable experience. I'm glad you agreed tocome along as my guide. It was an honor, sir. Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. If I had waited until it wassafe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able tofind such an illustrious guide. ... I'm flattered, sir. Of course, Extrone said. But you should have spoken to me about it,when you discovered the farn beast in our own system. I realize that, sir. That is, I had intended at the first opportunity,sir.... Of course, Extrone said dryly. Like all of my subjects, he wavedhis hand in a broad gesture, the highest as well as the lowest slave,know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best. Ri squirmed, his face pale. We do indeed love you, sir. Extrone bent forward. Know me and love me. Yes, sir. Know you and love you, sir, Ri said. Get out! Extrone said. <doc-sep>It's frightening, Ri said, to be that close to him. Mia nodded. The two of them, beneath the leaf-swollen branches of the gnarled tree,were seated on their sleeping bags. The moon was clear and cold andbright in a cloudless sky; a small moon, smooth-surfaced, except for acentral mountain ridge that bisected it into almost twin hemispheres. To think of him. As flesh and blood. Not like the—well; that—whatwe've read about. Mia glanced suspiciously around him at the shadows. You begin tounderstand a lot of things, after seeing him. Ri picked nervously at the cover of his sleeping bag. It makes you think, Mia added. He twitched. I'm afraid. I'm afraidhe'll.... Listen, we'll talk. When we get back to civilization. You,me, the bearers. About him. He can't let that happen. He'll kill usfirst. Ri looked up at the moon, shivering. No. We have friends. We haveinfluence. He couldn't just like that— He could say it was an accident. No, Ri said stubbornly. He can say anything, Mia insisted. He can make people believeanything. Whatever he says. There's no way to check on it. It's getting cold, Ri said. Listen, Mia pleaded. No, Ri said. Even if we tried to tell them, they wouldn't listen.Everybody would know we were lying. Everything they've come tobelieve would tell them we were lying. Everything they've read, everypicture they've seen. They wouldn't believe us. He knows that. Listen, Mia repeated intently. This is important. Right now hecouldn't afford to let us talk. Not right now. Because the Army isnot against him. Some officers were here, just before we came back. Abearer overheard them talking. They don't want to overthrow him! Ri's teeth, suddenly, were chattering. That's another lie, Mia continued. That he protects the people fromthe Army. That's a lie. I don't believe they were ever plottingagainst him. Not even at first. I think they helped him, don't yousee? Ri whined nervously. It's like this, Mia said. I see it like this. The Army put him inpower when the people were in rebellion against military rule. <doc-sep>Ri swallowed. We couldn't make the people believe that. No? Mia challenged. Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow?You'll see. Because I think the Army is getting ready to invade thealien system! The people won't support them, Ri answered woodenly. Think. If he tells them to, they will. They trust him. Ri looked around at the shadows. That explains a lot of things, Mia said. I think the Army's beenpreparing for this for a long time. From the first, maybe. That's whyExtrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them fromlearning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keepthem from exposing him to the people. The aliens wouldn't be fooledlike we were, so easy. No! Ri snapped. It was to keep the natural economic balance. You know that's not right. Ri lay down on his bed roll. Don't talk about it. It's not good totalk like this. I don't even want to listen. When the invasion starts, he'll have to command all their loyalties.To keep them from revolt again. They'd be ready to believe us, then.He'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying totell the truth. You're wrong. He's not like that. I know you're wrong. Mia smiled twistedly. How many has he already killed? How can we evenguess? Ri swallowed sickly. Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret? Ri shuddered. That's different. Don't you see? This is not at all likethat. <doc-sep>With morning came birds' songs, came dew, came breakfast smells.The air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike,uncontaminated. And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting theflap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared aroundthe camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep. Breakfast! he shouted, and two bearers came running with a foldingtable and chair. Behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray ofvarious foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcherand a drinking mug. Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in hisconversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth withwater and spat on the ground. Lin! he said. His personal bearer came loping toward him. Have you read that manual I gave you? Lin nodded. Yes. Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. Veryludicrous, Lin. Have you noticed that I have two businessmen forguides? It occurred to me when I got up. They would have spat on me,twenty years ago, damn them. Lin waited. Now I can spit on them, which pleases me. The farn beasts are dangerous, sir, Lin said. Eh? Oh, yes. Those. What did the manual say about them? I believe they're carnivorous, sir. An alien manual. That's ludicrous, too. That we have the onlyinformation on our newly discovered fauna from an alien manual—and, ofcourse, two businessmen. They have very long, sharp fangs, and, when enraged, are capable oftearing a man— An alien? Extrone corrected. There's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. Of tearing analien to pieces, sir. Extrone laughed harshly. It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me? Lin's face remained impassive. I guess it seems that way. Sir. Damned few people would dare go as far as you do, Extrone said. Butyou're afraid of me, too, in your own way, aren't you? Lin shrugged. Maybe. I can see you are. Even my wives are. I wonder if anyone can know howwonderful it feels to have people all afraid of you. The farn beasts, according to the manual.... You are very insistent on one subject. ... It's the only thing I know anything about. The farn beast, as Iwas saying, sir, is the particular enemy of men. Or if you like, ofaliens. Sir. All right, Extrone said, annoyed. I'll be careful. In the distance, a farn beast coughed. Instantly alert, Extrone said, Get the bearers! Have some of them cuta path through that damn thicket! And tell those two businessmen to getthe hell over here! Lin smiled, his eyes suddenly afire with the excitement of the hunt. <doc-sep>Four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. Extrone walkedleisurely, well back of the cutters, who hacked away, methodically, atthe vines and branches which might impede his forward progress. Theirsharp, awkward knives snickered rhythmically to the rasp of their heavybreathing. Occasionally, Extrone halted, motioned for his water carrier, and drankdeeply of the icy water to allay the heat of the forest, a heat madeoppressive by the press of foliage against the outside air. Ranging out, on both sides of the central body, the two businessmenfought independently against the wild growth, each scouting the flanksfor farn beasts, and ahead, beyond the cutters, Lin flittered among thetree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, apowerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustainedfire. To his rear, the water carrier was trailed by a man bearing afolding stool, and behind him, a man carrying the heavy, high-poweredtwo-way communication set. Once Extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny,arboreal mammal, which, upon the impact, shattered asunder, toExtrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. When the sun stood high and heat exhaustion made the near-naked bearersslump, Extrone permitted a rest. While waiting for the march to resume,he sat on the stool with his back against an ancient tree and patted,reflectively, the blast rifle, lying across his legs. For you, sir, the communications man said, interrupting his reverie. Damn, Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. It better beimportant. He took the head-set and mike and nodded to the bearer. Thebearer twiddled the dials. Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell botherme?... All right, so they found out I was here. You got them, didn'tyou? Blasted them right out of space, the voice crackled excitedly. Rightin the middle of a radio broadcast, sir. I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting! Extronetore off the head-set and handed it to the bearer. If they call back,find out what they want, first. I don't want to be bothered unless it'simportant. Yes, sir. Extrone squinted up at the sun; his eyes crinkled under the glare, andperspiration stood in little droplets on the back of his hands. Lin, returning to the column, threaded his way among recliningbearers. He stopped before Extrone and tossed his hair out of his eyes.I located a spoor, he said, suppressed eagerness in his voice. Abouta quarter ahead. It looks fresh. Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. There were two, Ithink. Two? Extrone grinned, petting the rifle. You and I better go forwardand look at the spoor. Lin said, We ought to take protection, if you're going, too. Extrone laughed. This is enough. He gestured with the rifle and stoodup. I wish you had let me bring a gun along, sir, Lin said. One is enough in my camp. <doc-sep>The two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. Extrone movedagilely through the tangle, following Lin closely. When they came tothe tracks, heavily pressed into drying mud around a small wateringhole, Extrone nodded his head in satisfaction. This way, Lin said, pointing, and once more the two of them startedoff. They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming morealert with each additional foot. Finally, Lin stopped him with arestraining hand. They may be quite a way ahead. Hadn't we ought tobring up the column? The farn beast, somewhere beyond a ragged clump of bushes, coughed.Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. The farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. They're moving away, Lin said. Damn! Extrone said. It's a good thing the wind's right, or they'd be coming back, andfast, too. Eh? Extrone said. They charge on scent, sight, or sound. I understand they will trackdown a man for as long as a day. Wait, Extrone said, combing his beard. Wait a minute. Yes? Look, Extrone said. If that's the case, why do we bother trackingthem? Why not make them come to us? They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather havesurprise on our side. You don't seem to see what I mean, Extrone said. We won't bethe—ah—the bait. Oh? Let's get back to the column. <doc-sep>Extrone wants to see you, Lin said. Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy.What's he want to see me for? I don't know, Lin said curtly. Ri got to his feet. One of his hands reached out, plucked nervouslyat Lin's bare forearm. Look, he whispered. You know him. I have—alittle money. If you were able to ... if he wants, Ri gulped, to do anything to me—I'd pay you, if you could.... You better come along, Lin said, turning. Ri rubbed his hands along his thighs; he sighed, a tiny sound,ineffectual. He followed Lin beyond an outcropping of shale to whereExtrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. The farn beast hunter, eh? Yes, sir. Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. Tell mewhat they look like, he said suddenly. Well, sir, they're ... uh.... Pretty frightening? No, sir.... Well, in a way, sir. But you weren't afraid of them, were you? No, sir. No, because.... Extrone was smiling innocently. Good. I want you to do something forme. I ... I.... Ri glanced nervously at Lin out of the tail of his eye.Lin's face was impassive. Of course you will, Extrone said genially. Get me a rope, Lin. Agood, long, strong rope. What are you going to do? Ri asked, terrified. Why, I'm going to tie the rope around your waist and stake you out asbait. No! Oh, come now. When the farn beast hears you scream—you can scream,by the way? Ri swallowed. We could find a way to make you. There was perspiration trickling down Ri's forehead, a single drop,creeping toward his nose. You'll be safe, Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. I'llshoot the animal before it reaches you. Ri gulped for air. But ... if there should be more than one? Extrone shrugged. I—Look, sir. Listen to me. Ri's lips were bloodless and his handswere trembling. It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. He killed a farn beast before I did, sir. And last night—lastnight, he— He what? Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. Ri breathed with a gurgling sound. He said he ought to kill you, sir.That's what he said. I heard him, sir. He said he ought to kill you.He's the one you ought to use for bait. Then if there was an accident,sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. Iwouldn't.... Extrone said, Which one is he? That one. Right over there. The one with his back to me? Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir. Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifleand said, Here comes Lin with the rope, I see. Ri was greenish. You ... you.... Extrone turned to Lin. Tie one end around his waist. Wait, Ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. You don'twant to use me, sir. Not after I told you.... Please, sir. If anythingshould happen to me.... Please, sir. Don't do it. Tie it, Extrone ordered. No, sir. Please. Oh, please don't, sir. Tie it, Extrone said inexorably. Lin bent with the rope; his face was colorless. <doc-sep>They were at the watering hole—Extrone, Lin, two bearers, and Ri. Since the hole was drying, the left, partially exposed bank was steeptoward the muddy water. Upon it was green, new grass, tender-tuffed,half mashed in places by heavy animal treads. It was there that theystaked him out, tying the free end of the rope tightly around the baseof a scaling tree. You will scream, Extrone instructed. With his rifle, he pointedacross the water hole. The farn beast will come from this direction, Iimagine. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. Let me hear you scream, Extrone said. Ri moaned weakly. You'll have to do better than that. Extrone inclined his head towarda bearer, who used something Ri couldn't see. Ri screamed. See that you keep it up that way, Extrone said. That's the way Iwant you to sound. He turned toward Lin. We can climb this tree, Ithink. Slowly, aided by the bearers, the two men climbed the tree, barkpeeling away from under their rough boots. Ri watched them hopelessly. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert.Lin moved to the left, out on the main branch, rested in a smallercrotch. Looking down, Extrone said, Scream! Then, to Lin, You feel theexcitement? It's always in the air like this at a hunt. I feel it, Lin said. Extrone chuckled. You were with me on Meizque? Yes. That was something, that time. He ran his hand along the stock of theweapon. The sun headed west, veiling itself with trees; a large insect circledExtrone's head. He slapped at it, angry. The forest was quiet,underlined by an occasional piping call, something like a whistle. Ri'sscreams were shrill, echoing away, shiveringly. Lin sat quiet, hunched. Extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick,jerky movements. Lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Extrone'sface. The sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed againstthem, sucking at their breath like a vacuum. The insect went away.Still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, Ri screamed. <doc-sep>A farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest. Extrone laughed nervously. He must have heard. We're lucky to rouse one so fast, Lin said. Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. I likethis. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything Iknow. Lin nodded. The waiting, itself, is a lot. The suspense. It's not only the killingthat matters. It's not only the killing, Lin echoed. You understand? Extrone said. How it is to wait, knowing in just aminute something is going to come out of the forest, and you're goingto kill it? I know, Lin said. But it's not only the killing. It's the waiting, too. The farn beast coughed again; nearer. It's a different one, Lin said. How do you know? Hear the lower pitch, the more of a roar? Hey! Extrone shouted. You, down there. There are two coming. Nowlet's hear you really scream! Ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tethertree, his eyes wide. There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too, Extrone said.Making them come to your bait, where you can get at them. Heopened his right hand. Choose your ground, set your trap. Bait it.He snapped his hand into a fist, held the fist up before his eyes,imprisoning the idea. Spring the trap when the quarry is inside.Clever. That makes the waiting more interesting. Waiting to see if theyreally will come to your bait. Lin shifted, staring toward the forest. I've always liked to hunt, Extrone said. More than anything else, Ithink. Lin spat toward the ground. People should hunt because they have to.For food. For safety. No, Extrone argued. People should hunt for the love of hunting. Killing? Hunting, Extrone repeated harshly. <doc-sep>The farn beast coughed. Another answered. They were very near, andthere was a noise of crackling underbrush. He's good bait, Extrone said. He's fat enough and he knows how toscream good. Ri had stopped screaming; he was huddled against the tree, fearfullyeying the forest across from the watering hole. Extrone began to tremble with excitement. Here they come! The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across hislap. The farn beast, its tiny eyes red with hate, stepped out on the bank,swinging its head wildly, its nostrils flaring in anger. It coughed.Its mate appeared beside it. Their tails thrashed against the scrubsbehind them, rattling leaves. Shoot! Lin hissed. For God's sake, shoot! Wait, Extrone said. Let's see what they do. He had not movedthe rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breathbeginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. The lead farn beast sighted Ri. It lowered its head. Look! Extrone cried excitedly. Here it comes! Ri began to scream again. Still Extrone did not lift his blast rifle. He was laughing. Linwaited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. The farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwinga sheet of it to either side, headed across toward Ri. Watch! Watch! Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What settings does the story take place in?

On the surface of a planet which is wooded in scrub forest and one of the few places known to have farn beasts. The hunting party is next to a ridge that would be a significant effort to cross, and there are “blast sites” around the woods. The hunting party also uses a nearby water hole location to lure farn beasts while hiding up in a tree.Extrone’s camp set up by “bearers” and his tent, which is extravagantly decorated, are also scenes used throughout the story.

What is the relationship like between Ri and Mia? [SEP] <s> HUNT the HUNTER BY KRIS NEVILLE Illustrated by ELIZABETH MacINTYRE [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction June 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Of course using live bait is the best way to lure dangerous alien animals ... unless it turns out that you are the bait! We're somewhat to the south, I think, Ri said, bending over the crudefield map. That ridge, he pointed, on our left, is right here. Hedrew a finger down the map. It was over here, he moved the finger,over the ridge, north of here, that we sighted them. Extrone asked, Is there a pass? Ri looked up, studying the terrain. He moved his shoulders. I don'tknow, but maybe they range this far. Maybe they're on this side of theridge, too. Delicately, Extrone raised a hand to his beard. I'd hate to lose a daycrossing the ridge, he said. Yes, sir, Ri said. Suddenly he threw back his head. Listen! Eh? Extrone said. Hear it? That cough? I think that's one, from over there. Right upahead of us. Extrone raised his eyebrows. This time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. It is! Ri said. It's a farn beast, all right! Extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. I'mglad we won't have to cross the ridge. Ri wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. Yes, sir. We'll pitch camp right here, then, Extrone said. We'll go after ittomorrow. He looked at the sky. Have the bearers hurry. Yes, sir. Ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. You, there! he called.Pitch camp, here! He crossed to Mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into Extrone'sparty as guides. Once more, Ri addressed the bearers, Be quick, now!And to Mia, God almighty, he was getting mad. He ran a hand under hiscollar. It's a good thing that farn beast sounded off when it did. I'dhate to think of making him climb that ridge. Mia glanced nervously over his shoulder. It's that damned pilot'sfault for setting us down on this side. I told him it was the otherside. I told him so. Ri shrugged hopelessly. Mia said, I don't think he even saw a blast area over here. I think hewanted to get us in trouble. There shouldn't be one. There shouldn't be a blast area on this sideof the ridge, too. That's what I mean. The pilot don't like businessmen. He had it in forus. Ri cleared his throat nervously. Maybe you're right. It's the Hunting Club he don't like. I wish to God I'd never heard of a farn beast, Ri said. At least,then, I wouldn't be one of his guides. Why didn't he hire somebodyelse? <doc-sep>Mia looked at his companion. He spat. What hurts most, he pays us forit. I could buy half this planet, and he makes me his guide—at lessthan I pay my secretary. Well, anyway, we won't have to cross that ridge. Hey, you! Extrone called. The two of them turned immediately. You two scout ahead, Extrone said. See if you can pick up sometracks. Yes, sir, Ri said, and instantly the two of them readjusted theirshoulder straps and started off. Shortly they were inside of the scrub forest, safe from sight. Let'swait here, Mia said. No, we better go on. He may have sent a spy in. They pushed on, being careful to blaze the trees, because they were notprofessional guides. We don't want to get too near, Ri said after toiling through theforest for many minutes. Without guns, we don't want to get nearenough for the farn beast to charge us. They stopped. The forest was dense, the vines clinging. He'll want the bearers to hack a path for him, Mia said. But we goit alone. Damn him. Ri twisted his mouth into a sour frown. He wiped at his forehead. Hot.By God, it's hot. I didn't think it was this hot, the first time wewere here. Mia said, The first time, we weren't guides. We didn't notice it somuch then. They fought a few yards more into the forest. Then it ended. Or, rather, there was a wide gap. Before them lay ablast area, unmistakable. The grass was beginning to grow again, butthe tree stumps were roasted from the rocket breath. This isn't ours! Ri said. This looks like it was made nearly a yearago! Mia's eyes narrowed. The military from Xnile? No, Ri said. They don't have any rockets this small. And I don'tthink there's another cargo rocket on this planet outside of the one weleased from the Club. Except the one he brought. The ones who discovered the farn beasts in the first place? Miaasked. You think it's their blast? So? Ri said. But who are they? <doc-sep>It was Mia's turn to shrug. Whoever they were, they couldn't have beenhunters. They'd have kept the secret better. We didn't do so damned well. We didn't have a chance, Mia objected. Everybody and his brother hadheard the rumor that farn beasts were somewhere around here. It wasn'tour fault Extrone found out. I wish we hadn't shot our guide, then. I wish he was here instead ofus. Mia shook perspiration out of his eyes. We should have shot our pilot,too. That was our mistake. The pilot must have been the one who toldExtrone we'd hunted this area. I didn't think a Club pilot would do that. After Extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going tothe alien system? Listen, you don't know.... Wait a minute. There was perspiration on Ri's upper lip. I didn't tell Extrone, if that's what you're thinking, Mia said. Ri's mouth twisted. I didn't say you did. Listen, Mia said in a hoarse whisper. I just thought. Listen. Tohell with how he found out. Here's the point. Maybe he'll shoot us,too, when the hunt's over. Ri licked his lips. No. He wouldn't do that. We're not—not justanybody. He couldn't kill us like that. Not even him . And besides,why would he want to do that? It wouldn't do any good to shoot us. Toomany people already know about the farn beasts. You said that yourself. Mia said, I hope you're right. They stood side by side, studying theblast area in silence. Finally, Mia said, We better be getting back. What'll we tell him? That we saw tracks. What else can we tell him? They turned back along their trail, stumbling over vines. It gets hotter at sunset, Ri said nervously. The breeze dies down. It's screwy. I didn't think farn beasts had this wide a range. Theremust be a lot of them, to be on both sides of the ridge like this. There may be a pass, Mia said, pushing a vine away. Ri wrinkled his brow, panting. I guess that's it. If there were a lotof them, we'd have heard something before we did. But even so, it'sdamned funny, when you think about it. Mia looked up at the darkening sky. We better hurry, he said. <doc-sep>When it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low,obviously looking for a landing site. It was a military craft, from theoutpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was theblazoned emblem of the Ninth Fleet. The rocket roared directly overExtrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settledinto the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by itsblasts. Extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spatdisgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. Shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-rankingofficers came out of the forest, heading toward him. They were spruce,the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in andknees almost stiff. What in hell do you want? Extrone asked. They stopped a respectful distance away. Sir.... one began. Haven't I told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game? Extronedemanded, ominously not raising his voice. Sir, the lead officer said, it's another alien ship. It was sighteda few hours ago, off this very planet, sir. Extrone's face looked much too innocent. How did it get there,gentlemen? Why wasn't it destroyed? We lost it again, sir. Temporarily, sir. So? Extrone mocked. We thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. Until we couldlocate and destroy it. Extrone stared at them for a space. Then, indifferently, he turnedaway, in the direction of a resting bearer. You! he said. Hey! Bringme a drink! He faced the officers again. He smiled maliciously. I'mstaying here. The lead officer licked his firm lower lip. But, sir.... Extrone toyed with his beard. About a year ago, gentlemen, there wasan alien ship around here then, wasn't there? And you destroyed it,didn't you? Yes, sir. When we located it, sir. You'll destroy this one, too, Extrone said. We have a tight patrol, sir. It can't slip through. But it might try along range bombardment, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone said, To begin with, they probably don't even know I'm here.And they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. And youcan't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway. That's why we'd like you to return to an inner planet, sir. Extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. You'lllose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen.I'm quite safe here, I think. The bearer brought Extrone his drink. Get off, Extrone said quietly to the four officers. Again they turned reluctantly. This time, he did not call them back.Instead, with amusement, he watched until they disappeared into thetangle of forest. Dusk was falling. The takeoff blast of the rocket illuminated the area,casting weird shadows on the gently swaying grasses; there was a hotbreath of dry air and the rocket dwindled toward the stars. Extrone stood up lazily, stretching. He tossed the empty glass away,listened for it to shatter. He reached out, parted the heavy flap tohis tent. Sir? Ri said, hurrying toward him in the gathering darkness. Eh? Extrone said, turning, startled. Oh, you. Well? We ... located signs of the farn beast, sir. To the east. Extrone nodded. After a moment he said, You killed one, I believe, on your trip? Ri shifted. Yes, sir. Extrone held back the flap of the tent. Won't you come in? he askedwithout any politeness whatever. Ri obeyed the order. The inside of the tent was luxurious. The bed was of bulky feathers,costly of transport space, the sleep curtains of silken gauze. Thefloor, heavy, portable tile blocks, not the hollow kind, were neatlyand smoothly inset into the ground. Hanging from the center, to theleft of the slender, hand-carved center pole, was a chain of crystals.They tinkled lightly when Extrone dropped the flap. The light waselectric from a portable dynamo. Extrone flipped it on. He crossed tothe bed, sat down. You were, I believe, the first ever to kill a farn beast? he said. I.... No, sir. There must have been previous hunters, sir. <doc-sep>Extrone narrowed his eyes. I see by your eyes that you areenvious—that is the word, isn't it?—of my tent. Ri looked away from his face. Perhaps I'm envious of your reputation as a hunter. You see, I havenever killed a farn beast. In fact, I haven't seen a farn beast. Ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding Extrone'sglittering ones. Few people have seen them, sir. Oh? Extrone questioned mildly. I wouldn't say that. I understandthat the aliens hunt them quite extensively ... on some of theirplanets. I meant in our system, sir. Of course you did, Extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of hissleeve with his forefinger. I imagine these are the only farn beastsin our system. Ri waited uneasily, not answering. Yes, Extrone said, I imagine they are. It would have been a shame ifyou had killed the last one. Don't you think so? Ri's hands worried the sides of his outer garment. Yes, sir. It wouldhave been. Extrone pursed his lips. It wouldn't have been very considerate of youto—But, still, you gained valuable experience. I'm glad you agreed tocome along as my guide. It was an honor, sir. Extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. If I had waited until it wassafe for me to hunt on an alien planet, I would not have been able tofind such an illustrious guide. ... I'm flattered, sir. Of course, Extrone said. But you should have spoken to me about it,when you discovered the farn beast in our own system. I realize that, sir. That is, I had intended at the first opportunity,sir.... Of course, Extrone said dryly. Like all of my subjects, he wavedhis hand in a broad gesture, the highest as well as the lowest slave,know me and love me. I know your intentions were the best. Ri squirmed, his face pale. We do indeed love you, sir. Extrone bent forward. Know me and love me. Yes, sir. Know you and love you, sir, Ri said. Get out! Extrone said. <doc-sep>It's frightening, Ri said, to be that close to him. Mia nodded. The two of them, beneath the leaf-swollen branches of the gnarled tree,were seated on their sleeping bags. The moon was clear and cold andbright in a cloudless sky; a small moon, smooth-surfaced, except for acentral mountain ridge that bisected it into almost twin hemispheres. To think of him. As flesh and blood. Not like the—well; that—whatwe've read about. Mia glanced suspiciously around him at the shadows. You begin tounderstand a lot of things, after seeing him. Ri picked nervously at the cover of his sleeping bag. It makes you think, Mia added. He twitched. I'm afraid. I'm afraidhe'll.... Listen, we'll talk. When we get back to civilization. You,me, the bearers. About him. He can't let that happen. He'll kill usfirst. Ri looked up at the moon, shivering. No. We have friends. We haveinfluence. He couldn't just like that— He could say it was an accident. No, Ri said stubbornly. He can say anything, Mia insisted. He can make people believeanything. Whatever he says. There's no way to check on it. It's getting cold, Ri said. Listen, Mia pleaded. No, Ri said. Even if we tried to tell them, they wouldn't listen.Everybody would know we were lying. Everything they've come tobelieve would tell them we were lying. Everything they've read, everypicture they've seen. They wouldn't believe us. He knows that. Listen, Mia repeated intently. This is important. Right now hecouldn't afford to let us talk. Not right now. Because the Army isnot against him. Some officers were here, just before we came back. Abearer overheard them talking. They don't want to overthrow him! Ri's teeth, suddenly, were chattering. That's another lie, Mia continued. That he protects the people fromthe Army. That's a lie. I don't believe they were ever plottingagainst him. Not even at first. I think they helped him, don't yousee? Ri whined nervously. It's like this, Mia said. I see it like this. The Army put him inpower when the people were in rebellion against military rule. <doc-sep>Ri swallowed. We couldn't make the people believe that. No? Mia challenged. Couldn't we? Not today, but what about tomorrow?You'll see. Because I think the Army is getting ready to invade thealien system! The people won't support them, Ri answered woodenly. Think. If he tells them to, they will. They trust him. Ri looked around at the shadows. That explains a lot of things, Mia said. I think the Army's beenpreparing for this for a long time. From the first, maybe. That's whyExtrone cut off our trade with the aliens. Partly to keep them fromlearning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keepthem from exposing him to the people. The aliens wouldn't be fooledlike we were, so easy. No! Ri snapped. It was to keep the natural economic balance. You know that's not right. Ri lay down on his bed roll. Don't talk about it. It's not good totalk like this. I don't even want to listen. When the invasion starts, he'll have to command all their loyalties.To keep them from revolt again. They'd be ready to believe us, then.He'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying totell the truth. You're wrong. He's not like that. I know you're wrong. Mia smiled twistedly. How many has he already killed? How can we evenguess? Ri swallowed sickly. Remember our guide? To keep our hunting territory a secret? Ri shuddered. That's different. Don't you see? This is not at all likethat. <doc-sep>With morning came birds' songs, came dew, came breakfast smells.The air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike,uncontaminated. And Extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting theflap slap loudly behind him. He stretched hungrily and stared aroundthe camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep. Breakfast! he shouted, and two bearers came running with a foldingtable and chair. Behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray ofvarious foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcherand a drinking mug. Extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in hisconversational gestures. When he had finished, he washed his mouth withwater and spat on the ground. Lin! he said. His personal bearer came loping toward him. Have you read that manual I gave you? Lin nodded. Yes. Extrone pushed the table away. He smacked his lips wetly. Veryludicrous, Lin. Have you noticed that I have two businessmen forguides? It occurred to me when I got up. They would have spat on me,twenty years ago, damn them. Lin waited. Now I can spit on them, which pleases me. The farn beasts are dangerous, sir, Lin said. Eh? Oh, yes. Those. What did the manual say about them? I believe they're carnivorous, sir. An alien manual. That's ludicrous, too. That we have the onlyinformation on our newly discovered fauna from an alien manual—and, ofcourse, two businessmen. They have very long, sharp fangs, and, when enraged, are capable oftearing a man— An alien? Extrone corrected. There's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. Of tearing analien to pieces, sir. Extrone laughed harshly. It's 'sir' whenever you contradict me? Lin's face remained impassive. I guess it seems that way. Sir. Damned few people would dare go as far as you do, Extrone said. Butyou're afraid of me, too, in your own way, aren't you? Lin shrugged. Maybe. I can see you are. Even my wives are. I wonder if anyone can know howwonderful it feels to have people all afraid of you. The farn beasts, according to the manual.... You are very insistent on one subject. ... It's the only thing I know anything about. The farn beast, as Iwas saying, sir, is the particular enemy of men. Or if you like, ofaliens. Sir. All right, Extrone said, annoyed. I'll be careful. In the distance, a farn beast coughed. Instantly alert, Extrone said, Get the bearers! Have some of them cuta path through that damn thicket! And tell those two businessmen to getthe hell over here! Lin smiled, his eyes suddenly afire with the excitement of the hunt. <doc-sep>Four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. Extrone walkedleisurely, well back of the cutters, who hacked away, methodically, atthe vines and branches which might impede his forward progress. Theirsharp, awkward knives snickered rhythmically to the rasp of their heavybreathing. Occasionally, Extrone halted, motioned for his water carrier, and drankdeeply of the icy water to allay the heat of the forest, a heat madeoppressive by the press of foliage against the outside air. Ranging out, on both sides of the central body, the two businessmenfought independently against the wild growth, each scouting the flanksfor farn beasts, and ahead, beyond the cutters, Lin flittered among thetree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. Extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, apowerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustainedfire. To his rear, the water carrier was trailed by a man bearing afolding stool, and behind him, a man carrying the heavy, high-poweredtwo-way communication set. Once Extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny,arboreal mammal, which, upon the impact, shattered asunder, toExtrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. When the sun stood high and heat exhaustion made the near-naked bearersslump, Extrone permitted a rest. While waiting for the march to resume,he sat on the stool with his back against an ancient tree and patted,reflectively, the blast rifle, lying across his legs. For you, sir, the communications man said, interrupting his reverie. Damn, Extrone muttered. His face twisted in anger. It better beimportant. He took the head-set and mike and nodded to the bearer. Thebearer twiddled the dials. Extrone. Eh?... Oh, you got their ship. Well, why in hell botherme?... All right, so they found out I was here. You got them, didn'tyou? Blasted them right out of space, the voice crackled excitedly. Rightin the middle of a radio broadcast, sir. I don't want to listen to your gabbling when I'm hunting! Extronetore off the head-set and handed it to the bearer. If they call back,find out what they want, first. I don't want to be bothered unless it'simportant. Yes, sir. Extrone squinted up at the sun; his eyes crinkled under the glare, andperspiration stood in little droplets on the back of his hands. Lin, returning to the column, threaded his way among recliningbearers. He stopped before Extrone and tossed his hair out of his eyes.I located a spoor, he said, suppressed eagerness in his voice. Abouta quarter ahead. It looks fresh. Extrone's eyes lit with passion. Lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. There were two, Ithink. Two? Extrone grinned, petting the rifle. You and I better go forwardand look at the spoor. Lin said, We ought to take protection, if you're going, too. Extrone laughed. This is enough. He gestured with the rifle and stoodup. I wish you had let me bring a gun along, sir, Lin said. One is enough in my camp. <doc-sep>The two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. Extrone movedagilely through the tangle, following Lin closely. When they came tothe tracks, heavily pressed into drying mud around a small wateringhole, Extrone nodded his head in satisfaction. This way, Lin said, pointing, and once more the two of them startedoff. They went a good distance through the forest, Extrone becoming morealert with each additional foot. Finally, Lin stopped him with arestraining hand. They may be quite a way ahead. Hadn't we ought tobring up the column? The farn beast, somewhere beyond a ragged clump of bushes, coughed.Extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. The farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. They're moving away, Lin said. Damn! Extrone said. It's a good thing the wind's right, or they'd be coming back, andfast, too. Eh? Extrone said. They charge on scent, sight, or sound. I understand they will trackdown a man for as long as a day. Wait, Extrone said, combing his beard. Wait a minute. Yes? Look, Extrone said. If that's the case, why do we bother trackingthem? Why not make them come to us? They're too unpredictable. It wouldn't be safe. I'd rather havesurprise on our side. You don't seem to see what I mean, Extrone said. We won't bethe—ah—the bait. Oh? Let's get back to the column. <doc-sep>Extrone wants to see you, Lin said. Ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy.What's he want to see me for? I don't know, Lin said curtly. Ri got to his feet. One of his hands reached out, plucked nervouslyat Lin's bare forearm. Look, he whispered. You know him. I have—alittle money. If you were able to ... if he wants, Ri gulped, to do anything to me—I'd pay you, if you could.... You better come along, Lin said, turning. Ri rubbed his hands along his thighs; he sighed, a tiny sound,ineffectual. He followed Lin beyond an outcropping of shale to whereExtrone was seated, petting his rifle. Extrone nodded genially. The farn beast hunter, eh? Yes, sir. Extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. Tell mewhat they look like, he said suddenly. Well, sir, they're ... uh.... Pretty frightening? No, sir.... Well, in a way, sir. But you weren't afraid of them, were you? No, sir. No, because.... Extrone was smiling innocently. Good. I want you to do something forme. I ... I.... Ri glanced nervously at Lin out of the tail of his eye.Lin's face was impassive. Of course you will, Extrone said genially. Get me a rope, Lin. Agood, long, strong rope. What are you going to do? Ri asked, terrified. Why, I'm going to tie the rope around your waist and stake you out asbait. No! Oh, come now. When the farn beast hears you scream—you can scream,by the way? Ri swallowed. We could find a way to make you. There was perspiration trickling down Ri's forehead, a single drop,creeping toward his nose. You'll be safe, Extrone said, studying his face with amusement. I'llshoot the animal before it reaches you. Ri gulped for air. But ... if there should be more than one? Extrone shrugged. I—Look, sir. Listen to me. Ri's lips were bloodless and his handswere trembling. It's not me you want to do this to. It's Mia, sir. He killed a farn beast before I did, sir. And last night—lastnight, he— He what? Extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. Ri breathed with a gurgling sound. He said he ought to kill you, sir.That's what he said. I heard him, sir. He said he ought to kill you.He's the one you ought to use for bait. Then if there was an accident,sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. Iwouldn't.... Extrone said, Which one is he? That one. Right over there. The one with his back to me? Yes, sir. That's him. That's him, sir. Extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifleand said, Here comes Lin with the rope, I see. Ri was greenish. You ... you.... Extrone turned to Lin. Tie one end around his waist. Wait, Ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. You don'twant to use me, sir. Not after I told you.... Please, sir. If anythingshould happen to me.... Please, sir. Don't do it. Tie it, Extrone ordered. No, sir. Please. Oh, please don't, sir. Tie it, Extrone said inexorably. Lin bent with the rope; his face was colorless. <doc-sep>They were at the watering hole—Extrone, Lin, two bearers, and Ri. Since the hole was drying, the left, partially exposed bank was steeptoward the muddy water. Upon it was green, new grass, tender-tuffed,half mashed in places by heavy animal treads. It was there that theystaked him out, tying the free end of the rope tightly around the baseof a scaling tree. You will scream, Extrone instructed. With his rifle, he pointedacross the water hole. The farn beast will come from this direction, Iimagine. Ri was almost slobbering in fear. Let me hear you scream, Extrone said. Ri moaned weakly. You'll have to do better than that. Extrone inclined his head towarda bearer, who used something Ri couldn't see. Ri screamed. See that you keep it up that way, Extrone said. That's the way Iwant you to sound. He turned toward Lin. We can climb this tree, Ithink. Slowly, aided by the bearers, the two men climbed the tree, barkpeeling away from under their rough boots. Ri watched them hopelessly. Once at the crotch, Extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert.Lin moved to the left, out on the main branch, rested in a smallercrotch. Looking down, Extrone said, Scream! Then, to Lin, You feel theexcitement? It's always in the air like this at a hunt. I feel it, Lin said. Extrone chuckled. You were with me on Meizque? Yes. That was something, that time. He ran his hand along the stock of theweapon. The sun headed west, veiling itself with trees; a large insect circledExtrone's head. He slapped at it, angry. The forest was quiet,underlined by an occasional piping call, something like a whistle. Ri'sscreams were shrill, echoing away, shiveringly. Lin sat quiet, hunched. Extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick,jerky movements. Lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Extrone'sface. The sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed againstthem, sucking at their breath like a vacuum. The insect went away.Still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, Ri screamed. <doc-sep>A farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest. Extrone laughed nervously. He must have heard. We're lucky to rouse one so fast, Lin said. Extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. I likethis. There's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything Iknow. Lin nodded. The waiting, itself, is a lot. The suspense. It's not only the killingthat matters. It's not only the killing, Lin echoed. You understand? Extrone said. How it is to wait, knowing in just aminute something is going to come out of the forest, and you're goingto kill it? I know, Lin said. But it's not only the killing. It's the waiting, too. The farn beast coughed again; nearer. It's a different one, Lin said. How do you know? Hear the lower pitch, the more of a roar? Hey! Extrone shouted. You, down there. There are two coming. Nowlet's hear you really scream! Ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tethertree, his eyes wide. There's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too, Extrone said.Making them come to your bait, where you can get at them. Heopened his right hand. Choose your ground, set your trap. Bait it.He snapped his hand into a fist, held the fist up before his eyes,imprisoning the idea. Spring the trap when the quarry is inside.Clever. That makes the waiting more interesting. Waiting to see if theyreally will come to your bait. Lin shifted, staring toward the forest. I've always liked to hunt, Extrone said. More than anything else, Ithink. Lin spat toward the ground. People should hunt because they have to.For food. For safety. No, Extrone argued. People should hunt for the love of hunting. Killing? Hunting, Extrone repeated harshly. <doc-sep>The farn beast coughed. Another answered. They were very near, andthere was a noise of crackling underbrush. He's good bait, Extrone said. He's fat enough and he knows how toscream good. Ri had stopped screaming; he was huddled against the tree, fearfullyeying the forest across from the watering hole. Extrone began to tremble with excitement. Here they come! The forest sprang apart. Extrone bent forward, the gun still across hislap. The farn beast, its tiny eyes red with hate, stepped out on the bank,swinging its head wildly, its nostrils flaring in anger. It coughed.Its mate appeared beside it. Their tails thrashed against the scrubsbehind them, rattling leaves. Shoot! Lin hissed. For God's sake, shoot! Wait, Extrone said. Let's see what they do. He had not movedthe rifle. He was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breathbeginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. The lead farn beast sighted Ri. It lowered its head. Look! Extrone cried excitedly. Here it comes! Ri began to scream again. Still Extrone did not lift his blast rifle. He was laughing. Linwaited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. The farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwinga sheet of it to either side, headed across toward Ri. Watch! Watch! Extrone cried gleefully. And then the aliens sprang their trap. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship like between Ri and Mia?

They are businessmen that have been recruited (seemingly against their will) as guides for Extrone on a hunting trip seeking to kill farn beasts. They had come to the same location once before on a hunting trip together in good relations, and killed their guide to keep their finding of the farn beasts a secret. Initially, they seem to be bonded in their misery about being forced into this situation by Extrone. However, this relationship changes and deteriorates over the story.Mia is highly suspicious of Extrone, his possible appointment by the Army, and what he thinks is an impending invasion of the alien system to be led by Extrone. Ri has had several personal meetings with Extrone and is completely terrified of him and what he is capable of. Ri rejects the notions suggested by Mia and is scared to be caught speaking of them. When Extrone threatens to put Ri out for bait to lure the farn beasts, he rats Mia out as having intention to kill Extrone in order to avoid his own death. The plan fails when Extrone kills Mia on the spot by shooting him in the back, thus ending their relationship.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> Bodyguard By CHRISTOPHER GRIMM Illustrated by CAVAT [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When overwhelming danger is constantly present,of course a man is entitled to have a bodyguard. The annoyance was that he had to do it himself ... and his body would not cooperate! The man at the bar was exceptionally handsome, and he knew it. So didthe light-haired girl at his side, and so did the nondescript man inthe gray suit who was watching them from a booth in the corner. Everyone in the room was aware of the big young man, and most of thehumans present were resentful, for he handled himself consciously andarrogantly, as if his appearance alone were enough to make him superiorto anyone. Even the girl with him was growing restless, for she wasaccustomed to adulation herself, and next to Gabriel Lockard she wasalmost ordinary-looking. As for the extraterrestrials—it was a free bar—they were merelyamused, since to them all men were pathetically and irredeemablyhideous. Gabe threw his arm wide in one of his expansive gestures. There was ashort man standing next to the pair—young, as most men and women werein that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, thoughnot death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plasticsurgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. The drink he had been raising to his lips splashed all over hisclothing; the glass shattered at his feet. Now he was not only a ratherugly little man, but also a rather ridiculous one—or at least he felthe was, which was what mattered. Sorry, colleague, Gabe said lazily. All my fault. You must let mebuy you a replacement. He gestured to the bartender. Another of thesame for my fellow-man here. The ugly man dabbed futilely at his dripping trousers with a clothhastily supplied by the management. You must allow me to pay your cleaning bill, Gabe said, taking outhis wallet and extracting several credit notes without seeming to lookat them. Here, have yourself a new suit on me. You could use one was implied. And that, coming on top of Gabriel Lockard's spectacular appearance,was too much. The ugly man picked up the drink the bartender had justset before him and started to hurl it, glass and all, into Lockard'shandsome face. <doc-sep>Suddenly a restraining hand was laid upon his arm. Don't do that, thenondescript man who had been sitting in the corner advised. He removedthe glass from the little man's slackening grasp. You wouldn't want togo to jail because of him. The ugly man gave him a bewildered stare. Then, seeing the forcesnow ranged against him—including his own belated prudence—were toostrong, he stumbled off. He hadn't really wanted to fight, only tosmash back, and now it was too late for that. Gabe studied the newcomer curiously. So, it's you again? The man in the gray suit smiled. Who else in any world would stand upfor you? I should think you'd have given up by now. Not that I mind having youaround, of course, Gabriel added too quickly. You do come in usefulat times, you know. So you don't mind having me around? The nondescript man smiled again.Then what are you running from, if not me? You can't be running fromyourself—you lost yourself a while back, remember? Gabe ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Come on, have a drinkwith me, fellow-man, and let's let bygones be bygones. I owe yousomething—I admit that. Maybe we can even work this thing out. I drank with you once too often, the nondescript man said. Andthings worked out fine, didn't they? For you. His eyes studied theother man's incredibly handsome young face, noted the suggestion ofbags under the eyes, the beginning of slackness at the lips, and werenot pleased with what they saw. Watch yourself, colleague, he warnedas he left. Soon you might not be worth the saving. Who was that, Gabe? the girl asked. He shrugged. I never saw him before in my life. Of course, knowinghim, she assumed he was lying, but, as a matter of fact, just then hehappened to have been telling the truth. <doc-sep>Once the illuminators were extinguished in Gabriel Lockard's hotelsuite, it seemed reasonably certain to the man in the gray suit, ashe watched from the street, that his quarry would not go out againthat night. So he went to the nearest airstation. There he inserted acoin in a locker, into which he put most of his personal possessions,reserving only a sum of money. After setting the locker to respond tothe letter combination bodyguard , he went out into the street. If he had met with a fatal accident at that point, there would havebeen nothing on his body to identify him. As a matter of fact, no realidentification was possible, for he was no one and had been no one foryears. The nondescript man hailed a cruising helicab. Where to, fellow-man?the driver asked. I'm new in the parish, the other man replied and let it hang there. Oh...? Females...? Narcophagi...? Thrill-mills? But to each of these questions the nondescript man shook his head. Games? the driver finally asked, although he could guess what waswanted by then. Dice...? Roulette...? Farjeen? Is there a good zarquil game in town? The driver moved so he could see the face of the man behind him in theteleview. A very ordinary face. Look, colleague, why don't you commitsuicide? It's cleaner and quicker. I can't contact your attitude, the passenger said with a thinsmile. Bet you've never tried the game yourself. Each time ithappens, there's a ... well, there's no experience to match it at athrill-mill. He gave a sigh that was almost an audible shudder, andwhich the driver misinterpreted as an expression of ecstasy. Each time, eh? You're a dutchman then? The driver spat out of thewindow. If it wasn't for the nibble, I'd throw you right out of thecab. Without even bothering to take it down even. I hate dutchmen ...anybody with any legitimate feelings hates 'em. But it would be silly to let personal prejudice stand in the way of acommission, wouldn't it? the other man asked coolly. Of course. You'll need plenty of foliage, though. I have sufficient funds. I also have a gun. You're the dictator, the driver agreed sullenly. II It was a dark and rainy night in early fall. Gabe Lockard was in nocondition to drive the helicar. However, he was stubborn. Let me take the controls, honey, the light-haired girl urged, but heshook his handsome head. Show you I can do something 'sides look pretty, he said thickly,referring to an earlier and not amicable conversation they had held,and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. Fortunately the car was flying low, contrary to regulations, so thatwhen they smashed into the beacon tower on the outskirts of the littletown, they didn't have far to fall. And hardly had their car crashedon the ground when the car that had been following them landed, and ashort fat man was puffing toward them through the mist. To the girl's indignation, the stranger not only hauled Gabe out ontothe dripping grass first, but stopped and deliberately examined theyoung man by the light of his minilume, almost as if she weren't thereat all. Only when she started to struggle out by herself did he seem toremember her existence. He pulled her away from the wreck just a momentbefore the fuel tank exploded and the 'copter went up in flames. Gabe opened his eyes and saw the fat man gazing down at himspeculatively. My guardian angel, he mumbled—shock had sobered hima little, but not enough. He sat up. Guess I'm not hurt or you'd havethrown me back in. And that's no joke, the fat man agreed. The girl shivered and at that moment Gabriel suddenly seemed to recallthat he had not been alone. How about Helen? She on course? Seems to be, the fat man said. You all right, miss? he asked,glancing toward the girl without, she thought, much apparent concern. Mrs. , Gabriel corrected. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. GabrielLockard, he said, bowing from his seated position toward the girl.Pretty bauble, isn't she? I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard, the fat man said,looking at her intently. His small eyes seemed to strip the make-upfrom her cheek and examine the livid bruise underneath. I hopeyou'll be worthy of the name. The light given off by the flamingcar flickered on his face and Gabriel's and, she supposed, hers too.Otherwise, darkness surrounded the three of them. There were no public illuminators this far out—even in town thelights were dimming and not being replaced fast enough nor by thenewer models. The town, the civilization, the planet all were old andbeginning to slide downhill.... Gabe gave a short laugh, for no reason that she could see. <doc-sep>There was the feeling that she had encountered the fat man before,which was, of course, absurd. She had an excellent memory for faces andhis was not included in her gallery. The girl pulled her thin jacketcloser about her chilly body. Aren't you going to introduce your—yourfriend to me, Gabe? I don't know who he is, Gabe said almost merrily, except that he'sno friend of mine. Do you have a name, stranger? Of course I have a name. The fat man extracted an identificationcard from his wallet and read it. Says here I'm Dominic Bianchi, andDominic Bianchi is a retail milgot dealer.... Only he isn't a retailmilgot dealer any more; the poor fellow went bankrupt a couple of weeksago, and now he isn't ... anything. You saved our lives, the girl said. I'd like to give you some tokenof my—of our appreciation. Her hand reached toward her credit-carrierwith deliberate insult. He might have saved her life, but onlycasually, as a by-product of some larger scheme, and her appreciationheld little gratitude. The fat man shook his head without rancor. I have plenty of money,thank you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard.... Come, he addressed her husband,if you get up, I'll drive you home. I warn you, be more careful in thefuture! Sometimes, he added musingly, I almost wish you would letsomething happen. Then my problem would not be any problem, would it? Gabriel shivered. I'll be careful, he vowed. I promise—I'll becareful. When he was sure that his charge was safely tucked in for the night,the fat man checked his personal possessions. He then requested a taxidriver to take him to the nearest zarquil game. The driver accepted thecommission phlegmatically. Perhaps he was more hardened than the othershad been; perhaps he was unaware that the fat man was not a desperateor despairing individual seeking one last chance, but what was knowncolloquially as a flying dutchman, a man, or woman, who went fromone zarquil game to another, loving the thrill of the sport, if youcould call it that, for its own sake, and not for the futile hope itextended and which was its sole shred of claim to moral justification.Perhaps—and this was the most likely hypothesis—he just didn't care. Zarquil was extremely illegal, of course—so much so that there weremany legitimate citizens who weren't quite sure just what the wordimplied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors sodeliciously hinted at by the fax sheets under the generic term ofcrimes against nature. Actually the phrase was more appropriate tozarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonlyapplied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well asnature—in which victim had to be considered as guilty as perpetrator;otherwise the whole legal structure of society would collapse. <doc-sep>Playing the game was fabulously expensive; it had to be to make itprofitable for the Vinzz to run it. Those odd creatures from Altair'sseventh planet cared nothing for the welfare of the completely alienhuman beings; all they wanted was to feather their own pockets withinterstellar credits, so that they could return to Vinau and buy manyslaves. For, on Vinau, bodies were of little account, and so to themzarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs.Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never beenbig money in musical chairs as such. When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—asthey had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond thelaw—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth courtcould give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose lifespanned approximately two thousand terrestrial years. And capitalpunishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved theterrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weaponscould kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expiredafter a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, becausetrade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace betweenVinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entranceof apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. The taxi driver took the fat man to one of the rather seedy locales inwhich the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted toconduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible.But the front door swung open on an interior that lacked the opulenceof the usual Vinoz set-up; it was down-right shabby, the dim olivelight hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That wasthe trouble in these smaller towns—you ran greater risks of gettinginvolved in games where the players had not been carefully screened. The Vinoz games were usually clean, because that paid off better, but,when profits were lacking, the Vinzz were capable of sliding off intodarkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely tohave trouble in making ends meet, because everybody in the parish kneweverybody else far too well. The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive incoming to such desolate, off-trail places—hoping that eventuallydisaster would hit the one who pursued him. Somehow, such a plan seemedtoo logical for the man he was haunting. However, beggars could not be choosers. The fat man paid off theheli-driver and entered the zarquil house. One? the small greencreature in the slightly frayed robe asked. One, the fat man answered. III The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright raysfrom the stranger's gun lancing out after him in flamboyant but futilepatterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angularfeatures, made no attempt to follow. Instead, he bent over to examineGabriel Lockard's form, appropriately outstretched in the gutter. Onlyweighted out, he muttered, he'll be all right. Whatever possessed youtwo to come out to a place like this? I really think Gabriel must be possessed.... the girl said, mostlyto herself. I had no idea of the kind of place it was going to beuntil he brought me here. The others were bad, but this is even worse.It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it? It does indeed, the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It wasgrowing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protectthem from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathableand it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The girl looked closely at him. You look different, but you are thesame man who pulled us out of that aircar crash, aren't you? And beforethat the man in the gray suit? And before that...? The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. Yes, I'm all ofthem. Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are peoplewho go around changing their bodies like—like hats? Automatically shereached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-palehair, for she was always conscious of her appearance; if she had notbeen so before marriage, Gabriel would have taught her that. <doc-sep>He smiled again, but coughed instead of speaking. But why do you do it? Why! Do you like it? Or is it because ofGabriel? She was growing a little frantic; there was menace hereand she could not understand it nor determine whether or not she wasincluded in its scope. Do you want to keep him from recognizing you;is that it? Ask him. He won't tell me; he never tells me anything. We just keep running. Ididn't recognize it as running at first, but now I realize that's whatwe've been doing ever since we were married. And running from you, Ithink? There was no change of expression on the man's gaunt face, and shewondered how much control he had over a body that, though second- orthird- or fourth-hand, must be new to him. How well could he make itrespond? What was it like to step into another person's casing? But shemust not let herself think that way or she would find herself lookingfor a zarquil game. It would be one way of escaping Gabriel, but not,she thought, the best way; her body was much too good a one to risk socasually. <doc-sep>It was beginning to snow. Light, feathery flakes drifted down on herhusband's immobile body. She pulled her thick coat—of fur taken fromsome animal who had lived and died light-years away—more closely aboutherself. The thin young man began to cough again. Overhead a tiny star seemed to detach itself from the pale flat diskof the Moon and hurl itself upward—one of the interstellar shipsembarking on its long voyage to distant suns. She wished that somehowshe could be on it, but she was here, on this solitary old world in abarren solar system, with her unconscious husband and a strange man whofollowed them, and it looked as if here she would stay ... all three ofthem would stay.... If you're after Gabriel, planning to hurt him, she asked, why thendo you keep helping him? I am not helping him . And he knows that. You'll change again tonight, won't you? she babbled. You alwayschange after you ... meet us? I think I'm beginning to be able toidentify you now, even when you're ... wearing a new body; there'ssomething about you that doesn't change. Too bad he got married, the young man said. I could have followedhim for an eternity and he would never have been able to pick me outfrom the crowd. Too bad he got married anyway, he added, his voiceless impersonal, for your sake. She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, butshe would not admit that to an outsider. Though this man was hardly anoutsider; he was part of their small family group—as long as she hadknown Gabriel, so long he must have known her. And she began to suspectthat he was even more closely involved than that. Why must you change again? she persisted, obliquely approaching thesubject she feared. You have a pretty good body there. Why run therisk of getting a bad one? This isn't a good body, he said. It's diseased. Sure, nobody'ssupposed to play the game who hasn't passed a thorough medicalexamination. But in the places to which your husband has been leadingme, they're often not too particular, as long as the player has plentyof foliage. How—long will it last you? Four or five months, if I'm careful. He smiled. But don't worry, ifthat's what you're doing; I'll get it passed on before then. It'll beexpensive—that's all. Bad landing for the guy who gets it, but thenit was tough on me too, wasn't it? But how did you get into this ... pursuit? she asked again. And whyare you doing it? People didn't have any traffic with Gabriel Lockardfor fun, not after they got to know him. And this man certainly shouldknow him better than most. Ask your husband. The original Gabriel Lockard looked down at the prostrate,snow-powdered figure of the man who had stolen his body and his name,and stirred it with his toe. I'd better call a cab—he might freeze todeath. He signaled and a cab came. Tell him, when he comes to, he said to the girl as he and the driverlifted the heavy form of her husband into the helicar, that I'mgetting pretty tired of this. He stopped for a long spell of coughing.Tell him that sometimes I wonder whether cutting off my nose wouldn't,in the long run, be most beneficial for my face. <doc-sep>Sorry, the Vinzz said impersonally, in English that was perfectexcept for the slight dampening of the sibilants, but I'm afraid youcannot play. Why not? The emaciated young man began to put on his clothes. You know why. Your body is worthless. And this is a reputable house. But I have plenty of money. The young man coughed. The Vinzzshrugged. I'll pay you twice the regular fee. The green one shook his head. Regrettably, I do mean what I say. Thisgame is really clean. In a town like this? That is the reason we can afford to be honest. The Vinzz' tendrilsquivered in what the man had come to recognize as amusement throughlong, but necessarily superficial acquaintance with the Vinzz. Hisheavy robe of what looked like moss-green velvet, but might have beenvelvet-green moss, encrusted with oddly faceted alien jewels, swungwith him. We do a lot of business here, he said unnecessarily, for the wholeset-up spelled wealth far beyond the dreams of the man, and he was byno means poor when it came to worldly goods. Why don't you try anothertown where they're not so particular? The young man smiled wryly. Just his luck to stumble on a sunny game.He never liked to risk following his quarry in the same configuration.And even though only the girl had actually seen him this time, hewouldn't feel at ease until he had made the usual body-shift. Washe changing because of Gabriel, he wondered, or was he using his owndiscoverment and identification simply as an excuse to cover the factthat none of the bodies that fell to his lot ever seemed to fit him?Was he activated solely by revenge or as much by the hope that in thehazards of the game he might, impossible though it now seemed, some daywin another body that approached perfection as nearly as his originalcasing had? He didn't know. However, there seemed to be no help for it now; hewould have to wait until they reached the next town, unless the girl,seeing him reappear in the same guise, would guess what had happenedand tell her husband. He himself had been a fool to admit to her thatthe hulk he inhabited was a sick one; he still couldn't understandhow he could so casually have entrusted her with so vital a piece ofinformation. <doc-sep>The Vinzz had been locking antennae with another of his kind. Now theydetached, and the first approached the man once more. There is, as ithappens, a body available for a private game, he lisped. No questionsto be asked or answered. All I can tell you is that it is in goodhealth. The man hesitated. But unable to pass the screening? he murmuredaloud. A criminal then. The green one's face—if you could call it a face—remained impassive. Male? Of course, the Vinzz said primly. His kind did have certain ultimatestandards to which they adhered rigidly, and one of those was thecurious tabu against mixed games, strictly enforced even though itkept them from tapping a vast source of potential players. There hadalso never been a recorded instance of humans and extraterrestrialsexchanging identities, but whether that was the result of tabu orbiological impossibility, no one could tell. It might merely be prudence on the Vinzz' part—if it had everbeen proved that an alien life-form had desecrated a human body,Earthmen would clamor for war ... for on this planet humanity heldits self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despitebeing unquestionably the stronger, were pragmatic pacifists. It hadbeen undoubtedly some rabid member of the anti-alien groups active onTerra who had started the rumor that the planetary slogan of Vinau was,Don't beat 'em; cheat 'em. It would have to be something pretty nuclear for the other guy to takesuch a risk. The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. How much? Thirty thousand credits. Why, that's three times the usual rate! The other will pay five times the usual rate. Oh, all right, the delicate young man gave in. It was a terrificrisk he was agreeing to take, because, if the other was a criminal, hehimself would, upon assuming the body, assume responsibility for allthe crimes it had committed. But there was nothing else he could do. <doc-sep>He looked at himself in the mirror and found he had a fine new body;tall and strikingly handsome in a dark, coarse-featured way. Nothing tomatch the one he had lost, in his opinion, but there were probably manypeople who might find this one preferable. No identification in thepockets, but it wasn't necessary; he recognized the face. Not that itwas a very famous or even notorious one, but the dutchman was a carefulstudent of the wanted fax that had decorated public buildings fromtime immemorial, for he was ever mindful of the possibility that hemight one day find himself trapped unwittingly in the body of one ofthe men depicted there. And he knew that this particular man, thoughnot an important criminal in any sense of the word, was one whom thepolice had been ordered to burn on sight. The abolishing of capitalpunishment could not abolish the necessity for self-defense, and theman in question was not one who would let himself be captured easily,nor whom the police intended to capture easily. This might be a lucky break for me after all , the new tenant thought,as he tried to adjust himself to the body. It, too, despite its obviousrude health, was not a very comfortable fit. I can do a lot with ahulk like this. And maybe I'm cleverer than the original owner; maybeI'll be able to get away with it. IV Look, Gabe, the girl said, don't try to fool me! I know youtoo well. And I know you have that man's—the real GabrielLockard's—body. She put unnecessary stardust on her nose as shewatched her husband's reflection in the dressing table mirror. Lockard—Lockard's body, at any rate—sat up and felt his unshavenchin. That what he tell you? No, he didn't tell me anything really—just suggested I ask youwhatever I want to know. But why else should he guard somebody heobviously hates the way he hates you? Only because he doesn't want tosee his body spoiled. It is a pretty good body, isn't it? Gabe flexed softening musclesand made no attempt to deny her charge; very probably he was relievedat having someone with whom to share his secret. Not as good as it must have been, the girl said, turning and lookingat him without admiration. Not if you keep on the way you're coursing.Gabe, why don't you...? Give it back to him, eh? Lockard regarded his wife appraisingly.You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd be his wife then. That would benice—a sound mind in a sound body. But don't you think that's a littlemore than you deserve? I wasn't thinking about that, Gabe, she said truthfully enough, forshe hadn't followed the idea to its logical conclusion. Of course I'dgo with you, she went on, now knowing she lied, when you got your ...old body back. Sure , she thought, I'd keep going with you to farjeen houses andthrill-mills. Actually she had accompanied him to a thrill-mill onlyonce, and from then on, despite all his threats, she had refused to gowith him again. But that once had been enough; nothing could ever washthat experience from her mind or her body. You wouldn't be able to get your old body back, though, would you?she went on. You don't know where it's gone, and neither, I suppose,does he? I don't want to know! he spat. I wouldn't want it if I could getit back. Whoever it adhered to probably killed himself as soon as helooked in a mirror. He swung long legs over the side of his bed.Christ, anything would be better than that! You can't imagine what ahulk I had! Oh, yes, I can, she said incautiously. You must have had a body tomatch your character. Pity you could only change one. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Gabriel (Gabe) Lockard, an attractive man, is sitting in a bar with humans and extraterrestrials. He knocks over a man's drink while he talks to a girl. He offers to pay for a new suit, showing off his wealth. The other man reaches to throw his drink at Lockard but is stopped by a third man wearing a gray suit, who seems to know Lockard. This man warns Lockard to be careful, and when he leaves, Lockard tells the woman he's with that he's never seen him before, even though they talked as if they were acquaintances. The stranger visits a locker at a nearby airstation, puts most of his belongings inside, including all forms of identification, and sets the lock to the word "bodyguard". He climbs into a helicab, where he pressures the driver into taking him to a zarquil game. This man has been floating around without an identity, but operates as a flying dutchman, floating between zarquil games. Another day, Lockard crashes a helicar on a rainy fall night in a dark corner of a degrading city, and a fat stranger pulls him and his wife out of the helicar before it exploded. The man who saved them has the ID of Dominic Bianchi, a milgot dealer who seems to have disappeared in the past few weeks. Mrs. Lockard warns her husband to be more careful lest something happen to him. It seems the stranger's job is to rotate identities and protect Lockard. On yet another day, a thin stranger chases off a thief with his gun, and checks in on Mr. and Mrs. Lockard. Mrs. Lockard realizes that he is the same man who pulled them out of their aircar crash, and was the man wearing the gray suit at the bar. He has been changing bodies this whole time. She wants to know why, but the stranger suggests she ask Gabriel. She suspects they've been running from this stranger, and has started to be able to identify him, which the stranger is disappointed by as he explains it is not Gabriel he is helping. Because Gabriel is going to run-down cities, the bodies the stranger is getting are not well-vetted, and can't last too long. It turns out the stranger was the original Gabriel Lockard, the implication being that he's trying to protect his original body. As the stranger tries to swap bodies again, he finds that nobody wants the one he's in. He's offered a body that is healthy but likely a criminal, for three times the usual fee, and the stranger accepts the expensive deal. After the bodyswap, he recognizes the man as someone police are ordered to burn on sights. Mrs. Lockard interrogates her husband about his stolen body, which starts an argument. She recognizes he can't get his old body back, but lies and says she'd stay with him if he switched back, and the two talk about how ugly he was.

Who is Mrs. Lockard and what is her significance to the story? [SEP] <s> Bodyguard By CHRISTOPHER GRIMM Illustrated by CAVAT [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When overwhelming danger is constantly present,of course a man is entitled to have a bodyguard. The annoyance was that he had to do it himself ... and his body would not cooperate! The man at the bar was exceptionally handsome, and he knew it. So didthe light-haired girl at his side, and so did the nondescript man inthe gray suit who was watching them from a booth in the corner. Everyone in the room was aware of the big young man, and most of thehumans present were resentful, for he handled himself consciously andarrogantly, as if his appearance alone were enough to make him superiorto anyone. Even the girl with him was growing restless, for she wasaccustomed to adulation herself, and next to Gabriel Lockard she wasalmost ordinary-looking. As for the extraterrestrials—it was a free bar—they were merelyamused, since to them all men were pathetically and irredeemablyhideous. Gabe threw his arm wide in one of his expansive gestures. There was ashort man standing next to the pair—young, as most men and women werein that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, thoughnot death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plasticsurgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. The drink he had been raising to his lips splashed all over hisclothing; the glass shattered at his feet. Now he was not only a ratherugly little man, but also a rather ridiculous one—or at least he felthe was, which was what mattered. Sorry, colleague, Gabe said lazily. All my fault. You must let mebuy you a replacement. He gestured to the bartender. Another of thesame for my fellow-man here. The ugly man dabbed futilely at his dripping trousers with a clothhastily supplied by the management. You must allow me to pay your cleaning bill, Gabe said, taking outhis wallet and extracting several credit notes without seeming to lookat them. Here, have yourself a new suit on me. You could use one was implied. And that, coming on top of Gabriel Lockard's spectacular appearance,was too much. The ugly man picked up the drink the bartender had justset before him and started to hurl it, glass and all, into Lockard'shandsome face. <doc-sep>Suddenly a restraining hand was laid upon his arm. Don't do that, thenondescript man who had been sitting in the corner advised. He removedthe glass from the little man's slackening grasp. You wouldn't want togo to jail because of him. The ugly man gave him a bewildered stare. Then, seeing the forcesnow ranged against him—including his own belated prudence—were toostrong, he stumbled off. He hadn't really wanted to fight, only tosmash back, and now it was too late for that. Gabe studied the newcomer curiously. So, it's you again? The man in the gray suit smiled. Who else in any world would stand upfor you? I should think you'd have given up by now. Not that I mind having youaround, of course, Gabriel added too quickly. You do come in usefulat times, you know. So you don't mind having me around? The nondescript man smiled again.Then what are you running from, if not me? You can't be running fromyourself—you lost yourself a while back, remember? Gabe ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Come on, have a drinkwith me, fellow-man, and let's let bygones be bygones. I owe yousomething—I admit that. Maybe we can even work this thing out. I drank with you once too often, the nondescript man said. Andthings worked out fine, didn't they? For you. His eyes studied theother man's incredibly handsome young face, noted the suggestion ofbags under the eyes, the beginning of slackness at the lips, and werenot pleased with what they saw. Watch yourself, colleague, he warnedas he left. Soon you might not be worth the saving. Who was that, Gabe? the girl asked. He shrugged. I never saw him before in my life. Of course, knowinghim, she assumed he was lying, but, as a matter of fact, just then hehappened to have been telling the truth. <doc-sep>Once the illuminators were extinguished in Gabriel Lockard's hotelsuite, it seemed reasonably certain to the man in the gray suit, ashe watched from the street, that his quarry would not go out againthat night. So he went to the nearest airstation. There he inserted acoin in a locker, into which he put most of his personal possessions,reserving only a sum of money. After setting the locker to respond tothe letter combination bodyguard , he went out into the street. If he had met with a fatal accident at that point, there would havebeen nothing on his body to identify him. As a matter of fact, no realidentification was possible, for he was no one and had been no one foryears. The nondescript man hailed a cruising helicab. Where to, fellow-man?the driver asked. I'm new in the parish, the other man replied and let it hang there. Oh...? Females...? Narcophagi...? Thrill-mills? But to each of these questions the nondescript man shook his head. Games? the driver finally asked, although he could guess what waswanted by then. Dice...? Roulette...? Farjeen? Is there a good zarquil game in town? The driver moved so he could see the face of the man behind him in theteleview. A very ordinary face. Look, colleague, why don't you commitsuicide? It's cleaner and quicker. I can't contact your attitude, the passenger said with a thinsmile. Bet you've never tried the game yourself. Each time ithappens, there's a ... well, there's no experience to match it at athrill-mill. He gave a sigh that was almost an audible shudder, andwhich the driver misinterpreted as an expression of ecstasy. Each time, eh? You're a dutchman then? The driver spat out of thewindow. If it wasn't for the nibble, I'd throw you right out of thecab. Without even bothering to take it down even. I hate dutchmen ...anybody with any legitimate feelings hates 'em. But it would be silly to let personal prejudice stand in the way of acommission, wouldn't it? the other man asked coolly. Of course. You'll need plenty of foliage, though. I have sufficient funds. I also have a gun. You're the dictator, the driver agreed sullenly. II It was a dark and rainy night in early fall. Gabe Lockard was in nocondition to drive the helicar. However, he was stubborn. Let me take the controls, honey, the light-haired girl urged, but heshook his handsome head. Show you I can do something 'sides look pretty, he said thickly,referring to an earlier and not amicable conversation they had held,and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. Fortunately the car was flying low, contrary to regulations, so thatwhen they smashed into the beacon tower on the outskirts of the littletown, they didn't have far to fall. And hardly had their car crashedon the ground when the car that had been following them landed, and ashort fat man was puffing toward them through the mist. To the girl's indignation, the stranger not only hauled Gabe out ontothe dripping grass first, but stopped and deliberately examined theyoung man by the light of his minilume, almost as if she weren't thereat all. Only when she started to struggle out by herself did he seem toremember her existence. He pulled her away from the wreck just a momentbefore the fuel tank exploded and the 'copter went up in flames. Gabe opened his eyes and saw the fat man gazing down at himspeculatively. My guardian angel, he mumbled—shock had sobered hima little, but not enough. He sat up. Guess I'm not hurt or you'd havethrown me back in. And that's no joke, the fat man agreed. The girl shivered and at that moment Gabriel suddenly seemed to recallthat he had not been alone. How about Helen? She on course? Seems to be, the fat man said. You all right, miss? he asked,glancing toward the girl without, she thought, much apparent concern. Mrs. , Gabriel corrected. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. GabrielLockard, he said, bowing from his seated position toward the girl.Pretty bauble, isn't she? I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard, the fat man said,looking at her intently. His small eyes seemed to strip the make-upfrom her cheek and examine the livid bruise underneath. I hopeyou'll be worthy of the name. The light given off by the flamingcar flickered on his face and Gabriel's and, she supposed, hers too.Otherwise, darkness surrounded the three of them. There were no public illuminators this far out—even in town thelights were dimming and not being replaced fast enough nor by thenewer models. The town, the civilization, the planet all were old andbeginning to slide downhill.... Gabe gave a short laugh, for no reason that she could see. <doc-sep>There was the feeling that she had encountered the fat man before,which was, of course, absurd. She had an excellent memory for faces andhis was not included in her gallery. The girl pulled her thin jacketcloser about her chilly body. Aren't you going to introduce your—yourfriend to me, Gabe? I don't know who he is, Gabe said almost merrily, except that he'sno friend of mine. Do you have a name, stranger? Of course I have a name. The fat man extracted an identificationcard from his wallet and read it. Says here I'm Dominic Bianchi, andDominic Bianchi is a retail milgot dealer.... Only he isn't a retailmilgot dealer any more; the poor fellow went bankrupt a couple of weeksago, and now he isn't ... anything. You saved our lives, the girl said. I'd like to give you some tokenof my—of our appreciation. Her hand reached toward her credit-carrierwith deliberate insult. He might have saved her life, but onlycasually, as a by-product of some larger scheme, and her appreciationheld little gratitude. The fat man shook his head without rancor. I have plenty of money,thank you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard.... Come, he addressed her husband,if you get up, I'll drive you home. I warn you, be more careful in thefuture! Sometimes, he added musingly, I almost wish you would letsomething happen. Then my problem would not be any problem, would it? Gabriel shivered. I'll be careful, he vowed. I promise—I'll becareful. When he was sure that his charge was safely tucked in for the night,the fat man checked his personal possessions. He then requested a taxidriver to take him to the nearest zarquil game. The driver accepted thecommission phlegmatically. Perhaps he was more hardened than the othershad been; perhaps he was unaware that the fat man was not a desperateor despairing individual seeking one last chance, but what was knowncolloquially as a flying dutchman, a man, or woman, who went fromone zarquil game to another, loving the thrill of the sport, if youcould call it that, for its own sake, and not for the futile hope itextended and which was its sole shred of claim to moral justification.Perhaps—and this was the most likely hypothesis—he just didn't care. Zarquil was extremely illegal, of course—so much so that there weremany legitimate citizens who weren't quite sure just what the wordimplied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors sodeliciously hinted at by the fax sheets under the generic term ofcrimes against nature. Actually the phrase was more appropriate tozarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonlyapplied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well asnature—in which victim had to be considered as guilty as perpetrator;otherwise the whole legal structure of society would collapse. <doc-sep>Playing the game was fabulously expensive; it had to be to make itprofitable for the Vinzz to run it. Those odd creatures from Altair'sseventh planet cared nothing for the welfare of the completely alienhuman beings; all they wanted was to feather their own pockets withinterstellar credits, so that they could return to Vinau and buy manyslaves. For, on Vinau, bodies were of little account, and so to themzarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs.Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never beenbig money in musical chairs as such. When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—asthey had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond thelaw—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth courtcould give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose lifespanned approximately two thousand terrestrial years. And capitalpunishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved theterrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weaponscould kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expiredafter a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, becausetrade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace betweenVinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entranceof apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. The taxi driver took the fat man to one of the rather seedy locales inwhich the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted toconduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible.But the front door swung open on an interior that lacked the opulenceof the usual Vinoz set-up; it was down-right shabby, the dim olivelight hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That wasthe trouble in these smaller towns—you ran greater risks of gettinginvolved in games where the players had not been carefully screened. The Vinoz games were usually clean, because that paid off better, but,when profits were lacking, the Vinzz were capable of sliding off intodarkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely tohave trouble in making ends meet, because everybody in the parish kneweverybody else far too well. The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive incoming to such desolate, off-trail places—hoping that eventuallydisaster would hit the one who pursued him. Somehow, such a plan seemedtoo logical for the man he was haunting. However, beggars could not be choosers. The fat man paid off theheli-driver and entered the zarquil house. One? the small greencreature in the slightly frayed robe asked. One, the fat man answered. III The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright raysfrom the stranger's gun lancing out after him in flamboyant but futilepatterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angularfeatures, made no attempt to follow. Instead, he bent over to examineGabriel Lockard's form, appropriately outstretched in the gutter. Onlyweighted out, he muttered, he'll be all right. Whatever possessed youtwo to come out to a place like this? I really think Gabriel must be possessed.... the girl said, mostlyto herself. I had no idea of the kind of place it was going to beuntil he brought me here. The others were bad, but this is even worse.It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it? It does indeed, the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It wasgrowing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protectthem from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathableand it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The girl looked closely at him. You look different, but you are thesame man who pulled us out of that aircar crash, aren't you? And beforethat the man in the gray suit? And before that...? The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. Yes, I'm all ofthem. Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are peoplewho go around changing their bodies like—like hats? Automatically shereached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-palehair, for she was always conscious of her appearance; if she had notbeen so before marriage, Gabriel would have taught her that. <doc-sep>He smiled again, but coughed instead of speaking. But why do you do it? Why! Do you like it? Or is it because ofGabriel? She was growing a little frantic; there was menace hereand she could not understand it nor determine whether or not she wasincluded in its scope. Do you want to keep him from recognizing you;is that it? Ask him. He won't tell me; he never tells me anything. We just keep running. Ididn't recognize it as running at first, but now I realize that's whatwe've been doing ever since we were married. And running from you, Ithink? There was no change of expression on the man's gaunt face, and shewondered how much control he had over a body that, though second- orthird- or fourth-hand, must be new to him. How well could he make itrespond? What was it like to step into another person's casing? But shemust not let herself think that way or she would find herself lookingfor a zarquil game. It would be one way of escaping Gabriel, but not,she thought, the best way; her body was much too good a one to risk socasually. <doc-sep>It was beginning to snow. Light, feathery flakes drifted down on herhusband's immobile body. She pulled her thick coat—of fur taken fromsome animal who had lived and died light-years away—more closely aboutherself. The thin young man began to cough again. Overhead a tiny star seemed to detach itself from the pale flat diskof the Moon and hurl itself upward—one of the interstellar shipsembarking on its long voyage to distant suns. She wished that somehowshe could be on it, but she was here, on this solitary old world in abarren solar system, with her unconscious husband and a strange man whofollowed them, and it looked as if here she would stay ... all three ofthem would stay.... If you're after Gabriel, planning to hurt him, she asked, why thendo you keep helping him? I am not helping him . And he knows that. You'll change again tonight, won't you? she babbled. You alwayschange after you ... meet us? I think I'm beginning to be able toidentify you now, even when you're ... wearing a new body; there'ssomething about you that doesn't change. Too bad he got married, the young man said. I could have followedhim for an eternity and he would never have been able to pick me outfrom the crowd. Too bad he got married anyway, he added, his voiceless impersonal, for your sake. She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, butshe would not admit that to an outsider. Though this man was hardly anoutsider; he was part of their small family group—as long as she hadknown Gabriel, so long he must have known her. And she began to suspectthat he was even more closely involved than that. Why must you change again? she persisted, obliquely approaching thesubject she feared. You have a pretty good body there. Why run therisk of getting a bad one? This isn't a good body, he said. It's diseased. Sure, nobody'ssupposed to play the game who hasn't passed a thorough medicalexamination. But in the places to which your husband has been leadingme, they're often not too particular, as long as the player has plentyof foliage. How—long will it last you? Four or five months, if I'm careful. He smiled. But don't worry, ifthat's what you're doing; I'll get it passed on before then. It'll beexpensive—that's all. Bad landing for the guy who gets it, but thenit was tough on me too, wasn't it? But how did you get into this ... pursuit? she asked again. And whyare you doing it? People didn't have any traffic with Gabriel Lockardfor fun, not after they got to know him. And this man certainly shouldknow him better than most. Ask your husband. The original Gabriel Lockard looked down at the prostrate,snow-powdered figure of the man who had stolen his body and his name,and stirred it with his toe. I'd better call a cab—he might freeze todeath. He signaled and a cab came. Tell him, when he comes to, he said to the girl as he and the driverlifted the heavy form of her husband into the helicar, that I'mgetting pretty tired of this. He stopped for a long spell of coughing.Tell him that sometimes I wonder whether cutting off my nose wouldn't,in the long run, be most beneficial for my face. <doc-sep>Sorry, the Vinzz said impersonally, in English that was perfectexcept for the slight dampening of the sibilants, but I'm afraid youcannot play. Why not? The emaciated young man began to put on his clothes. You know why. Your body is worthless. And this is a reputable house. But I have plenty of money. The young man coughed. The Vinzzshrugged. I'll pay you twice the regular fee. The green one shook his head. Regrettably, I do mean what I say. Thisgame is really clean. In a town like this? That is the reason we can afford to be honest. The Vinzz' tendrilsquivered in what the man had come to recognize as amusement throughlong, but necessarily superficial acquaintance with the Vinzz. Hisheavy robe of what looked like moss-green velvet, but might have beenvelvet-green moss, encrusted with oddly faceted alien jewels, swungwith him. We do a lot of business here, he said unnecessarily, for the wholeset-up spelled wealth far beyond the dreams of the man, and he was byno means poor when it came to worldly goods. Why don't you try anothertown where they're not so particular? The young man smiled wryly. Just his luck to stumble on a sunny game.He never liked to risk following his quarry in the same configuration.And even though only the girl had actually seen him this time, hewouldn't feel at ease until he had made the usual body-shift. Washe changing because of Gabriel, he wondered, or was he using his owndiscoverment and identification simply as an excuse to cover the factthat none of the bodies that fell to his lot ever seemed to fit him?Was he activated solely by revenge or as much by the hope that in thehazards of the game he might, impossible though it now seemed, some daywin another body that approached perfection as nearly as his originalcasing had? He didn't know. However, there seemed to be no help for it now; hewould have to wait until they reached the next town, unless the girl,seeing him reappear in the same guise, would guess what had happenedand tell her husband. He himself had been a fool to admit to her thatthe hulk he inhabited was a sick one; he still couldn't understandhow he could so casually have entrusted her with so vital a piece ofinformation. <doc-sep>The Vinzz had been locking antennae with another of his kind. Now theydetached, and the first approached the man once more. There is, as ithappens, a body available for a private game, he lisped. No questionsto be asked or answered. All I can tell you is that it is in goodhealth. The man hesitated. But unable to pass the screening? he murmuredaloud. A criminal then. The green one's face—if you could call it a face—remained impassive. Male? Of course, the Vinzz said primly. His kind did have certain ultimatestandards to which they adhered rigidly, and one of those was thecurious tabu against mixed games, strictly enforced even though itkept them from tapping a vast source of potential players. There hadalso never been a recorded instance of humans and extraterrestrialsexchanging identities, but whether that was the result of tabu orbiological impossibility, no one could tell. It might merely be prudence on the Vinzz' part—if it had everbeen proved that an alien life-form had desecrated a human body,Earthmen would clamor for war ... for on this planet humanity heldits self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despitebeing unquestionably the stronger, were pragmatic pacifists. It hadbeen undoubtedly some rabid member of the anti-alien groups active onTerra who had started the rumor that the planetary slogan of Vinau was,Don't beat 'em; cheat 'em. It would have to be something pretty nuclear for the other guy to takesuch a risk. The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. How much? Thirty thousand credits. Why, that's three times the usual rate! The other will pay five times the usual rate. Oh, all right, the delicate young man gave in. It was a terrificrisk he was agreeing to take, because, if the other was a criminal, hehimself would, upon assuming the body, assume responsibility for allthe crimes it had committed. But there was nothing else he could do. <doc-sep>He looked at himself in the mirror and found he had a fine new body;tall and strikingly handsome in a dark, coarse-featured way. Nothing tomatch the one he had lost, in his opinion, but there were probably manypeople who might find this one preferable. No identification in thepockets, but it wasn't necessary; he recognized the face. Not that itwas a very famous or even notorious one, but the dutchman was a carefulstudent of the wanted fax that had decorated public buildings fromtime immemorial, for he was ever mindful of the possibility that hemight one day find himself trapped unwittingly in the body of one ofthe men depicted there. And he knew that this particular man, thoughnot an important criminal in any sense of the word, was one whom thepolice had been ordered to burn on sight. The abolishing of capitalpunishment could not abolish the necessity for self-defense, and theman in question was not one who would let himself be captured easily,nor whom the police intended to capture easily. This might be a lucky break for me after all , the new tenant thought,as he tried to adjust himself to the body. It, too, despite its obviousrude health, was not a very comfortable fit. I can do a lot with ahulk like this. And maybe I'm cleverer than the original owner; maybeI'll be able to get away with it. IV Look, Gabe, the girl said, don't try to fool me! I know youtoo well. And I know you have that man's—the real GabrielLockard's—body. She put unnecessary stardust on her nose as shewatched her husband's reflection in the dressing table mirror. Lockard—Lockard's body, at any rate—sat up and felt his unshavenchin. That what he tell you? No, he didn't tell me anything really—just suggested I ask youwhatever I want to know. But why else should he guard somebody heobviously hates the way he hates you? Only because he doesn't want tosee his body spoiled. It is a pretty good body, isn't it? Gabe flexed softening musclesand made no attempt to deny her charge; very probably he was relievedat having someone with whom to share his secret. Not as good as it must have been, the girl said, turning and lookingat him without admiration. Not if you keep on the way you're coursing.Gabe, why don't you...? Give it back to him, eh? Lockard regarded his wife appraisingly.You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd be his wife then. That would benice—a sound mind in a sound body. But don't you think that's a littlemore than you deserve? I wasn't thinking about that, Gabe, she said truthfully enough, forshe hadn't followed the idea to its logical conclusion. Of course I'dgo with you, she went on, now knowing she lied, when you got your ...old body back. Sure , she thought, I'd keep going with you to farjeen houses andthrill-mills. Actually she had accompanied him to a thrill-mill onlyonce, and from then on, despite all his threats, she had refused to gowith him again. But that once had been enough; nothing could ever washthat experience from her mind or her body. You wouldn't be able to get your old body back, though, would you?she went on. You don't know where it's gone, and neither, I suppose,does he? I don't want to know! he spat. I wouldn't want it if I could getit back. Whoever it adhered to probably killed himself as soon as helooked in a mirror. He swung long legs over the side of his bed.Christ, anything would be better than that! You can't imagine what ahulk I had! Oh, yes, I can, she said incautiously. You must have had a body tomatch your character. Pity you could only change one. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Mrs. Lockard and what is her significance to the story?

The young woman who Lockard is sitting with at the bar at the beginning of the story is the woman who would eventually become his wife. Her name is Helen, but she is mostly referred to as Mrs. Lockard. By the time the helicar crash happens, they have been married, and by the time they are almost robbed, they have been married six months. Her role is most clear when she is talking to the stranger after the robbery. She is the one who explicitly pieces together that the stranger she has seen, although varying in form at each event, has been the same person. The gray suit, the fat man, and the scrawny man have all been the same person. It is her perspective that changes Lockard's life and his possible path for the future, and the two of them have been on the run from the stranger the whole time they've been married. She gets enough information from the stranger to be able to confront her husband about what's happening, allowing her to uncover the whole story.

Who is the stranger in the gray suit and what is his significance? [SEP] <s> Bodyguard By CHRISTOPHER GRIMM Illustrated by CAVAT [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When overwhelming danger is constantly present,of course a man is entitled to have a bodyguard. The annoyance was that he had to do it himself ... and his body would not cooperate! The man at the bar was exceptionally handsome, and he knew it. So didthe light-haired girl at his side, and so did the nondescript man inthe gray suit who was watching them from a booth in the corner. Everyone in the room was aware of the big young man, and most of thehumans present were resentful, for he handled himself consciously andarrogantly, as if his appearance alone were enough to make him superiorto anyone. Even the girl with him was growing restless, for she wasaccustomed to adulation herself, and next to Gabriel Lockard she wasalmost ordinary-looking. As for the extraterrestrials—it was a free bar—they were merelyamused, since to them all men were pathetically and irredeemablyhideous. Gabe threw his arm wide in one of his expansive gestures. There was ashort man standing next to the pair—young, as most men and women werein that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, thoughnot death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plasticsurgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. The drink he had been raising to his lips splashed all over hisclothing; the glass shattered at his feet. Now he was not only a ratherugly little man, but also a rather ridiculous one—or at least he felthe was, which was what mattered. Sorry, colleague, Gabe said lazily. All my fault. You must let mebuy you a replacement. He gestured to the bartender. Another of thesame for my fellow-man here. The ugly man dabbed futilely at his dripping trousers with a clothhastily supplied by the management. You must allow me to pay your cleaning bill, Gabe said, taking outhis wallet and extracting several credit notes without seeming to lookat them. Here, have yourself a new suit on me. You could use one was implied. And that, coming on top of Gabriel Lockard's spectacular appearance,was too much. The ugly man picked up the drink the bartender had justset before him and started to hurl it, glass and all, into Lockard'shandsome face. <doc-sep>Suddenly a restraining hand was laid upon his arm. Don't do that, thenondescript man who had been sitting in the corner advised. He removedthe glass from the little man's slackening grasp. You wouldn't want togo to jail because of him. The ugly man gave him a bewildered stare. Then, seeing the forcesnow ranged against him—including his own belated prudence—were toostrong, he stumbled off. He hadn't really wanted to fight, only tosmash back, and now it was too late for that. Gabe studied the newcomer curiously. So, it's you again? The man in the gray suit smiled. Who else in any world would stand upfor you? I should think you'd have given up by now. Not that I mind having youaround, of course, Gabriel added too quickly. You do come in usefulat times, you know. So you don't mind having me around? The nondescript man smiled again.Then what are you running from, if not me? You can't be running fromyourself—you lost yourself a while back, remember? Gabe ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Come on, have a drinkwith me, fellow-man, and let's let bygones be bygones. I owe yousomething—I admit that. Maybe we can even work this thing out. I drank with you once too often, the nondescript man said. Andthings worked out fine, didn't they? For you. His eyes studied theother man's incredibly handsome young face, noted the suggestion ofbags under the eyes, the beginning of slackness at the lips, and werenot pleased with what they saw. Watch yourself, colleague, he warnedas he left. Soon you might not be worth the saving. Who was that, Gabe? the girl asked. He shrugged. I never saw him before in my life. Of course, knowinghim, she assumed he was lying, but, as a matter of fact, just then hehappened to have been telling the truth. <doc-sep>Once the illuminators were extinguished in Gabriel Lockard's hotelsuite, it seemed reasonably certain to the man in the gray suit, ashe watched from the street, that his quarry would not go out againthat night. So he went to the nearest airstation. There he inserted acoin in a locker, into which he put most of his personal possessions,reserving only a sum of money. After setting the locker to respond tothe letter combination bodyguard , he went out into the street. If he had met with a fatal accident at that point, there would havebeen nothing on his body to identify him. As a matter of fact, no realidentification was possible, for he was no one and had been no one foryears. The nondescript man hailed a cruising helicab. Where to, fellow-man?the driver asked. I'm new in the parish, the other man replied and let it hang there. Oh...? Females...? Narcophagi...? Thrill-mills? But to each of these questions the nondescript man shook his head. Games? the driver finally asked, although he could guess what waswanted by then. Dice...? Roulette...? Farjeen? Is there a good zarquil game in town? The driver moved so he could see the face of the man behind him in theteleview. A very ordinary face. Look, colleague, why don't you commitsuicide? It's cleaner and quicker. I can't contact your attitude, the passenger said with a thinsmile. Bet you've never tried the game yourself. Each time ithappens, there's a ... well, there's no experience to match it at athrill-mill. He gave a sigh that was almost an audible shudder, andwhich the driver misinterpreted as an expression of ecstasy. Each time, eh? You're a dutchman then? The driver spat out of thewindow. If it wasn't for the nibble, I'd throw you right out of thecab. Without even bothering to take it down even. I hate dutchmen ...anybody with any legitimate feelings hates 'em. But it would be silly to let personal prejudice stand in the way of acommission, wouldn't it? the other man asked coolly. Of course. You'll need plenty of foliage, though. I have sufficient funds. I also have a gun. You're the dictator, the driver agreed sullenly. II It was a dark and rainy night in early fall. Gabe Lockard was in nocondition to drive the helicar. However, he was stubborn. Let me take the controls, honey, the light-haired girl urged, but heshook his handsome head. Show you I can do something 'sides look pretty, he said thickly,referring to an earlier and not amicable conversation they had held,and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. Fortunately the car was flying low, contrary to regulations, so thatwhen they smashed into the beacon tower on the outskirts of the littletown, they didn't have far to fall. And hardly had their car crashedon the ground when the car that had been following them landed, and ashort fat man was puffing toward them through the mist. To the girl's indignation, the stranger not only hauled Gabe out ontothe dripping grass first, but stopped and deliberately examined theyoung man by the light of his minilume, almost as if she weren't thereat all. Only when she started to struggle out by herself did he seem toremember her existence. He pulled her away from the wreck just a momentbefore the fuel tank exploded and the 'copter went up in flames. Gabe opened his eyes and saw the fat man gazing down at himspeculatively. My guardian angel, he mumbled—shock had sobered hima little, but not enough. He sat up. Guess I'm not hurt or you'd havethrown me back in. And that's no joke, the fat man agreed. The girl shivered and at that moment Gabriel suddenly seemed to recallthat he had not been alone. How about Helen? She on course? Seems to be, the fat man said. You all right, miss? he asked,glancing toward the girl without, she thought, much apparent concern. Mrs. , Gabriel corrected. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. GabrielLockard, he said, bowing from his seated position toward the girl.Pretty bauble, isn't she? I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard, the fat man said,looking at her intently. His small eyes seemed to strip the make-upfrom her cheek and examine the livid bruise underneath. I hopeyou'll be worthy of the name. The light given off by the flamingcar flickered on his face and Gabriel's and, she supposed, hers too.Otherwise, darkness surrounded the three of them. There were no public illuminators this far out—even in town thelights were dimming and not being replaced fast enough nor by thenewer models. The town, the civilization, the planet all were old andbeginning to slide downhill.... Gabe gave a short laugh, for no reason that she could see. <doc-sep>There was the feeling that she had encountered the fat man before,which was, of course, absurd. She had an excellent memory for faces andhis was not included in her gallery. The girl pulled her thin jacketcloser about her chilly body. Aren't you going to introduce your—yourfriend to me, Gabe? I don't know who he is, Gabe said almost merrily, except that he'sno friend of mine. Do you have a name, stranger? Of course I have a name. The fat man extracted an identificationcard from his wallet and read it. Says here I'm Dominic Bianchi, andDominic Bianchi is a retail milgot dealer.... Only he isn't a retailmilgot dealer any more; the poor fellow went bankrupt a couple of weeksago, and now he isn't ... anything. You saved our lives, the girl said. I'd like to give you some tokenof my—of our appreciation. Her hand reached toward her credit-carrierwith deliberate insult. He might have saved her life, but onlycasually, as a by-product of some larger scheme, and her appreciationheld little gratitude. The fat man shook his head without rancor. I have plenty of money,thank you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard.... Come, he addressed her husband,if you get up, I'll drive you home. I warn you, be more careful in thefuture! Sometimes, he added musingly, I almost wish you would letsomething happen. Then my problem would not be any problem, would it? Gabriel shivered. I'll be careful, he vowed. I promise—I'll becareful. When he was sure that his charge was safely tucked in for the night,the fat man checked his personal possessions. He then requested a taxidriver to take him to the nearest zarquil game. The driver accepted thecommission phlegmatically. Perhaps he was more hardened than the othershad been; perhaps he was unaware that the fat man was not a desperateor despairing individual seeking one last chance, but what was knowncolloquially as a flying dutchman, a man, or woman, who went fromone zarquil game to another, loving the thrill of the sport, if youcould call it that, for its own sake, and not for the futile hope itextended and which was its sole shred of claim to moral justification.Perhaps—and this was the most likely hypothesis—he just didn't care. Zarquil was extremely illegal, of course—so much so that there weremany legitimate citizens who weren't quite sure just what the wordimplied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors sodeliciously hinted at by the fax sheets under the generic term ofcrimes against nature. Actually the phrase was more appropriate tozarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonlyapplied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well asnature—in which victim had to be considered as guilty as perpetrator;otherwise the whole legal structure of society would collapse. <doc-sep>Playing the game was fabulously expensive; it had to be to make itprofitable for the Vinzz to run it. Those odd creatures from Altair'sseventh planet cared nothing for the welfare of the completely alienhuman beings; all they wanted was to feather their own pockets withinterstellar credits, so that they could return to Vinau and buy manyslaves. For, on Vinau, bodies were of little account, and so to themzarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs.Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never beenbig money in musical chairs as such. When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—asthey had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond thelaw—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth courtcould give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose lifespanned approximately two thousand terrestrial years. And capitalpunishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved theterrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weaponscould kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expiredafter a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, becausetrade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace betweenVinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entranceof apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. The taxi driver took the fat man to one of the rather seedy locales inwhich the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted toconduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible.But the front door swung open on an interior that lacked the opulenceof the usual Vinoz set-up; it was down-right shabby, the dim olivelight hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That wasthe trouble in these smaller towns—you ran greater risks of gettinginvolved in games where the players had not been carefully screened. The Vinoz games were usually clean, because that paid off better, but,when profits were lacking, the Vinzz were capable of sliding off intodarkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely tohave trouble in making ends meet, because everybody in the parish kneweverybody else far too well. The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive incoming to such desolate, off-trail places—hoping that eventuallydisaster would hit the one who pursued him. Somehow, such a plan seemedtoo logical for the man he was haunting. However, beggars could not be choosers. The fat man paid off theheli-driver and entered the zarquil house. One? the small greencreature in the slightly frayed robe asked. One, the fat man answered. III The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright raysfrom the stranger's gun lancing out after him in flamboyant but futilepatterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angularfeatures, made no attempt to follow. Instead, he bent over to examineGabriel Lockard's form, appropriately outstretched in the gutter. Onlyweighted out, he muttered, he'll be all right. Whatever possessed youtwo to come out to a place like this? I really think Gabriel must be possessed.... the girl said, mostlyto herself. I had no idea of the kind of place it was going to beuntil he brought me here. The others were bad, but this is even worse.It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it? It does indeed, the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It wasgrowing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protectthem from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathableand it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The girl looked closely at him. You look different, but you are thesame man who pulled us out of that aircar crash, aren't you? And beforethat the man in the gray suit? And before that...? The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. Yes, I'm all ofthem. Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are peoplewho go around changing their bodies like—like hats? Automatically shereached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-palehair, for she was always conscious of her appearance; if she had notbeen so before marriage, Gabriel would have taught her that. <doc-sep>He smiled again, but coughed instead of speaking. But why do you do it? Why! Do you like it? Or is it because ofGabriel? She was growing a little frantic; there was menace hereand she could not understand it nor determine whether or not she wasincluded in its scope. Do you want to keep him from recognizing you;is that it? Ask him. He won't tell me; he never tells me anything. We just keep running. Ididn't recognize it as running at first, but now I realize that's whatwe've been doing ever since we were married. And running from you, Ithink? There was no change of expression on the man's gaunt face, and shewondered how much control he had over a body that, though second- orthird- or fourth-hand, must be new to him. How well could he make itrespond? What was it like to step into another person's casing? But shemust not let herself think that way or she would find herself lookingfor a zarquil game. It would be one way of escaping Gabriel, but not,she thought, the best way; her body was much too good a one to risk socasually. <doc-sep>It was beginning to snow. Light, feathery flakes drifted down on herhusband's immobile body. She pulled her thick coat—of fur taken fromsome animal who had lived and died light-years away—more closely aboutherself. The thin young man began to cough again. Overhead a tiny star seemed to detach itself from the pale flat diskof the Moon and hurl itself upward—one of the interstellar shipsembarking on its long voyage to distant suns. She wished that somehowshe could be on it, but she was here, on this solitary old world in abarren solar system, with her unconscious husband and a strange man whofollowed them, and it looked as if here she would stay ... all three ofthem would stay.... If you're after Gabriel, planning to hurt him, she asked, why thendo you keep helping him? I am not helping him . And he knows that. You'll change again tonight, won't you? she babbled. You alwayschange after you ... meet us? I think I'm beginning to be able toidentify you now, even when you're ... wearing a new body; there'ssomething about you that doesn't change. Too bad he got married, the young man said. I could have followedhim for an eternity and he would never have been able to pick me outfrom the crowd. Too bad he got married anyway, he added, his voiceless impersonal, for your sake. She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, butshe would not admit that to an outsider. Though this man was hardly anoutsider; he was part of their small family group—as long as she hadknown Gabriel, so long he must have known her. And she began to suspectthat he was even more closely involved than that. Why must you change again? she persisted, obliquely approaching thesubject she feared. You have a pretty good body there. Why run therisk of getting a bad one? This isn't a good body, he said. It's diseased. Sure, nobody'ssupposed to play the game who hasn't passed a thorough medicalexamination. But in the places to which your husband has been leadingme, they're often not too particular, as long as the player has plentyof foliage. How—long will it last you? Four or five months, if I'm careful. He smiled. But don't worry, ifthat's what you're doing; I'll get it passed on before then. It'll beexpensive—that's all. Bad landing for the guy who gets it, but thenit was tough on me too, wasn't it? But how did you get into this ... pursuit? she asked again. And whyare you doing it? People didn't have any traffic with Gabriel Lockardfor fun, not after they got to know him. And this man certainly shouldknow him better than most. Ask your husband. The original Gabriel Lockard looked down at the prostrate,snow-powdered figure of the man who had stolen his body and his name,and stirred it with his toe. I'd better call a cab—he might freeze todeath. He signaled and a cab came. Tell him, when he comes to, he said to the girl as he and the driverlifted the heavy form of her husband into the helicar, that I'mgetting pretty tired of this. He stopped for a long spell of coughing.Tell him that sometimes I wonder whether cutting off my nose wouldn't,in the long run, be most beneficial for my face. <doc-sep>Sorry, the Vinzz said impersonally, in English that was perfectexcept for the slight dampening of the sibilants, but I'm afraid youcannot play. Why not? The emaciated young man began to put on his clothes. You know why. Your body is worthless. And this is a reputable house. But I have plenty of money. The young man coughed. The Vinzzshrugged. I'll pay you twice the regular fee. The green one shook his head. Regrettably, I do mean what I say. Thisgame is really clean. In a town like this? That is the reason we can afford to be honest. The Vinzz' tendrilsquivered in what the man had come to recognize as amusement throughlong, but necessarily superficial acquaintance with the Vinzz. Hisheavy robe of what looked like moss-green velvet, but might have beenvelvet-green moss, encrusted with oddly faceted alien jewels, swungwith him. We do a lot of business here, he said unnecessarily, for the wholeset-up spelled wealth far beyond the dreams of the man, and he was byno means poor when it came to worldly goods. Why don't you try anothertown where they're not so particular? The young man smiled wryly. Just his luck to stumble on a sunny game.He never liked to risk following his quarry in the same configuration.And even though only the girl had actually seen him this time, hewouldn't feel at ease until he had made the usual body-shift. Washe changing because of Gabriel, he wondered, or was he using his owndiscoverment and identification simply as an excuse to cover the factthat none of the bodies that fell to his lot ever seemed to fit him?Was he activated solely by revenge or as much by the hope that in thehazards of the game he might, impossible though it now seemed, some daywin another body that approached perfection as nearly as his originalcasing had? He didn't know. However, there seemed to be no help for it now; hewould have to wait until they reached the next town, unless the girl,seeing him reappear in the same guise, would guess what had happenedand tell her husband. He himself had been a fool to admit to her thatthe hulk he inhabited was a sick one; he still couldn't understandhow he could so casually have entrusted her with so vital a piece ofinformation. <doc-sep>The Vinzz had been locking antennae with another of his kind. Now theydetached, and the first approached the man once more. There is, as ithappens, a body available for a private game, he lisped. No questionsto be asked or answered. All I can tell you is that it is in goodhealth. The man hesitated. But unable to pass the screening? he murmuredaloud. A criminal then. The green one's face—if you could call it a face—remained impassive. Male? Of course, the Vinzz said primly. His kind did have certain ultimatestandards to which they adhered rigidly, and one of those was thecurious tabu against mixed games, strictly enforced even though itkept them from tapping a vast source of potential players. There hadalso never been a recorded instance of humans and extraterrestrialsexchanging identities, but whether that was the result of tabu orbiological impossibility, no one could tell. It might merely be prudence on the Vinzz' part—if it had everbeen proved that an alien life-form had desecrated a human body,Earthmen would clamor for war ... for on this planet humanity heldits self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despitebeing unquestionably the stronger, were pragmatic pacifists. It hadbeen undoubtedly some rabid member of the anti-alien groups active onTerra who had started the rumor that the planetary slogan of Vinau was,Don't beat 'em; cheat 'em. It would have to be something pretty nuclear for the other guy to takesuch a risk. The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. How much? Thirty thousand credits. Why, that's three times the usual rate! The other will pay five times the usual rate. Oh, all right, the delicate young man gave in. It was a terrificrisk he was agreeing to take, because, if the other was a criminal, hehimself would, upon assuming the body, assume responsibility for allthe crimes it had committed. But there was nothing else he could do. <doc-sep>He looked at himself in the mirror and found he had a fine new body;tall and strikingly handsome in a dark, coarse-featured way. Nothing tomatch the one he had lost, in his opinion, but there were probably manypeople who might find this one preferable. No identification in thepockets, but it wasn't necessary; he recognized the face. Not that itwas a very famous or even notorious one, but the dutchman was a carefulstudent of the wanted fax that had decorated public buildings fromtime immemorial, for he was ever mindful of the possibility that hemight one day find himself trapped unwittingly in the body of one ofthe men depicted there. And he knew that this particular man, thoughnot an important criminal in any sense of the word, was one whom thepolice had been ordered to burn on sight. The abolishing of capitalpunishment could not abolish the necessity for self-defense, and theman in question was not one who would let himself be captured easily,nor whom the police intended to capture easily. This might be a lucky break for me after all , the new tenant thought,as he tried to adjust himself to the body. It, too, despite its obviousrude health, was not a very comfortable fit. I can do a lot with ahulk like this. And maybe I'm cleverer than the original owner; maybeI'll be able to get away with it. IV Look, Gabe, the girl said, don't try to fool me! I know youtoo well. And I know you have that man's—the real GabrielLockard's—body. She put unnecessary stardust on her nose as shewatched her husband's reflection in the dressing table mirror. Lockard—Lockard's body, at any rate—sat up and felt his unshavenchin. That what he tell you? No, he didn't tell me anything really—just suggested I ask youwhatever I want to know. But why else should he guard somebody heobviously hates the way he hates you? Only because he doesn't want tosee his body spoiled. It is a pretty good body, isn't it? Gabe flexed softening musclesand made no attempt to deny her charge; very probably he was relievedat having someone with whom to share his secret. Not as good as it must have been, the girl said, turning and lookingat him without admiration. Not if you keep on the way you're coursing.Gabe, why don't you...? Give it back to him, eh? Lockard regarded his wife appraisingly.You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd be his wife then. That would benice—a sound mind in a sound body. But don't you think that's a littlemore than you deserve? I wasn't thinking about that, Gabe, she said truthfully enough, forshe hadn't followed the idea to its logical conclusion. Of course I'dgo with you, she went on, now knowing she lied, when you got your ...old body back. Sure , she thought, I'd keep going with you to farjeen houses andthrill-mills. Actually she had accompanied him to a thrill-mill onlyonce, and from then on, despite all his threats, she had refused to gowith him again. But that once had been enough; nothing could ever washthat experience from her mind or her body. You wouldn't be able to get your old body back, though, would you?she went on. You don't know where it's gone, and neither, I suppose,does he? I don't want to know! he spat. I wouldn't want it if I could getit back. Whoever it adhered to probably killed himself as soon as helooked in a mirror. He swung long legs over the side of his bed.Christ, anything would be better than that! You can't imagine what ahulk I had! Oh, yes, I can, she said incautiously. You must have had a body tomatch your character. Pity you could only change one. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is the stranger in the gray suit and what is his significance?

The stranger in the gray suit at the bar in the beginning of the story happens to be the original Gabriel Lockard, and it is hinted that the original Lockard only switched bodies because the current one had convinced him to when they'd had too much to drink. The stranger is keeping an eye on the current Gabriel Lockard to protect the body from harm. He does this by participating in zarquil games, run by the alien race the Vinzz, which allows him to swap bodies with other people. If he is in a reputable area, there are careful checks to make sure that these bodies are healthy, but he ends up with a sick body partway through the story, which forces him to take the body of a criminal as his only option because nobody will buy the sick body from him. The stranger's desire to protect his original body pushes him to become obsessed with this task, and it is his only real goal. He follows Lockard throughout the story, switching bodies every time he is seen, which forces Lockard and his wife to flee from him, staying constantly on the run. Lockard is used to this stranger being around, and tries to avoid making him angry, but there is a sense that he is sick of being saved and wants to live his own life. Lockard even offers to buy the stranger a drink at the beginning to try to work something out, seemingly exhausted from being followed. His single-mindedness is shown by the fact that the stranger's password on his locker is "bodyguard", in reference to his original body.

What are the zarquil games and what is their significance? [SEP] <s> Bodyguard By CHRISTOPHER GRIMM Illustrated by CAVAT [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When overwhelming danger is constantly present,of course a man is entitled to have a bodyguard. The annoyance was that he had to do it himself ... and his body would not cooperate! The man at the bar was exceptionally handsome, and he knew it. So didthe light-haired girl at his side, and so did the nondescript man inthe gray suit who was watching them from a booth in the corner. Everyone in the room was aware of the big young man, and most of thehumans present were resentful, for he handled himself consciously andarrogantly, as if his appearance alone were enough to make him superiorto anyone. Even the girl with him was growing restless, for she wasaccustomed to adulation herself, and next to Gabriel Lockard she wasalmost ordinary-looking. As for the extraterrestrials—it was a free bar—they were merelyamused, since to them all men were pathetically and irredeemablyhideous. Gabe threw his arm wide in one of his expansive gestures. There was ashort man standing next to the pair—young, as most men and women werein that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, thoughnot death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plasticsurgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. The drink he had been raising to his lips splashed all over hisclothing; the glass shattered at his feet. Now he was not only a ratherugly little man, but also a rather ridiculous one—or at least he felthe was, which was what mattered. Sorry, colleague, Gabe said lazily. All my fault. You must let mebuy you a replacement. He gestured to the bartender. Another of thesame for my fellow-man here. The ugly man dabbed futilely at his dripping trousers with a clothhastily supplied by the management. You must allow me to pay your cleaning bill, Gabe said, taking outhis wallet and extracting several credit notes without seeming to lookat them. Here, have yourself a new suit on me. You could use one was implied. And that, coming on top of Gabriel Lockard's spectacular appearance,was too much. The ugly man picked up the drink the bartender had justset before him and started to hurl it, glass and all, into Lockard'shandsome face. <doc-sep>Suddenly a restraining hand was laid upon his arm. Don't do that, thenondescript man who had been sitting in the corner advised. He removedthe glass from the little man's slackening grasp. You wouldn't want togo to jail because of him. The ugly man gave him a bewildered stare. Then, seeing the forcesnow ranged against him—including his own belated prudence—were toostrong, he stumbled off. He hadn't really wanted to fight, only tosmash back, and now it was too late for that. Gabe studied the newcomer curiously. So, it's you again? The man in the gray suit smiled. Who else in any world would stand upfor you? I should think you'd have given up by now. Not that I mind having youaround, of course, Gabriel added too quickly. You do come in usefulat times, you know. So you don't mind having me around? The nondescript man smiled again.Then what are you running from, if not me? You can't be running fromyourself—you lost yourself a while back, remember? Gabe ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Come on, have a drinkwith me, fellow-man, and let's let bygones be bygones. I owe yousomething—I admit that. Maybe we can even work this thing out. I drank with you once too often, the nondescript man said. Andthings worked out fine, didn't they? For you. His eyes studied theother man's incredibly handsome young face, noted the suggestion ofbags under the eyes, the beginning of slackness at the lips, and werenot pleased with what they saw. Watch yourself, colleague, he warnedas he left. Soon you might not be worth the saving. Who was that, Gabe? the girl asked. He shrugged. I never saw him before in my life. Of course, knowinghim, she assumed he was lying, but, as a matter of fact, just then hehappened to have been telling the truth. <doc-sep>Once the illuminators were extinguished in Gabriel Lockard's hotelsuite, it seemed reasonably certain to the man in the gray suit, ashe watched from the street, that his quarry would not go out againthat night. So he went to the nearest airstation. There he inserted acoin in a locker, into which he put most of his personal possessions,reserving only a sum of money. After setting the locker to respond tothe letter combination bodyguard , he went out into the street. If he had met with a fatal accident at that point, there would havebeen nothing on his body to identify him. As a matter of fact, no realidentification was possible, for he was no one and had been no one foryears. The nondescript man hailed a cruising helicab. Where to, fellow-man?the driver asked. I'm new in the parish, the other man replied and let it hang there. Oh...? Females...? Narcophagi...? Thrill-mills? But to each of these questions the nondescript man shook his head. Games? the driver finally asked, although he could guess what waswanted by then. Dice...? Roulette...? Farjeen? Is there a good zarquil game in town? The driver moved so he could see the face of the man behind him in theteleview. A very ordinary face. Look, colleague, why don't you commitsuicide? It's cleaner and quicker. I can't contact your attitude, the passenger said with a thinsmile. Bet you've never tried the game yourself. Each time ithappens, there's a ... well, there's no experience to match it at athrill-mill. He gave a sigh that was almost an audible shudder, andwhich the driver misinterpreted as an expression of ecstasy. Each time, eh? You're a dutchman then? The driver spat out of thewindow. If it wasn't for the nibble, I'd throw you right out of thecab. Without even bothering to take it down even. I hate dutchmen ...anybody with any legitimate feelings hates 'em. But it would be silly to let personal prejudice stand in the way of acommission, wouldn't it? the other man asked coolly. Of course. You'll need plenty of foliage, though. I have sufficient funds. I also have a gun. You're the dictator, the driver agreed sullenly. II It was a dark and rainy night in early fall. Gabe Lockard was in nocondition to drive the helicar. However, he was stubborn. Let me take the controls, honey, the light-haired girl urged, but heshook his handsome head. Show you I can do something 'sides look pretty, he said thickly,referring to an earlier and not amicable conversation they had held,and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. Fortunately the car was flying low, contrary to regulations, so thatwhen they smashed into the beacon tower on the outskirts of the littletown, they didn't have far to fall. And hardly had their car crashedon the ground when the car that had been following them landed, and ashort fat man was puffing toward them through the mist. To the girl's indignation, the stranger not only hauled Gabe out ontothe dripping grass first, but stopped and deliberately examined theyoung man by the light of his minilume, almost as if she weren't thereat all. Only when she started to struggle out by herself did he seem toremember her existence. He pulled her away from the wreck just a momentbefore the fuel tank exploded and the 'copter went up in flames. Gabe opened his eyes and saw the fat man gazing down at himspeculatively. My guardian angel, he mumbled—shock had sobered hima little, but not enough. He sat up. Guess I'm not hurt or you'd havethrown me back in. And that's no joke, the fat man agreed. The girl shivered and at that moment Gabriel suddenly seemed to recallthat he had not been alone. How about Helen? She on course? Seems to be, the fat man said. You all right, miss? he asked,glancing toward the girl without, she thought, much apparent concern. Mrs. , Gabriel corrected. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. GabrielLockard, he said, bowing from his seated position toward the girl.Pretty bauble, isn't she? I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard, the fat man said,looking at her intently. His small eyes seemed to strip the make-upfrom her cheek and examine the livid bruise underneath. I hopeyou'll be worthy of the name. The light given off by the flamingcar flickered on his face and Gabriel's and, she supposed, hers too.Otherwise, darkness surrounded the three of them. There were no public illuminators this far out—even in town thelights were dimming and not being replaced fast enough nor by thenewer models. The town, the civilization, the planet all were old andbeginning to slide downhill.... Gabe gave a short laugh, for no reason that she could see. <doc-sep>There was the feeling that she had encountered the fat man before,which was, of course, absurd. She had an excellent memory for faces andhis was not included in her gallery. The girl pulled her thin jacketcloser about her chilly body. Aren't you going to introduce your—yourfriend to me, Gabe? I don't know who he is, Gabe said almost merrily, except that he'sno friend of mine. Do you have a name, stranger? Of course I have a name. The fat man extracted an identificationcard from his wallet and read it. Says here I'm Dominic Bianchi, andDominic Bianchi is a retail milgot dealer.... Only he isn't a retailmilgot dealer any more; the poor fellow went bankrupt a couple of weeksago, and now he isn't ... anything. You saved our lives, the girl said. I'd like to give you some tokenof my—of our appreciation. Her hand reached toward her credit-carrierwith deliberate insult. He might have saved her life, but onlycasually, as a by-product of some larger scheme, and her appreciationheld little gratitude. The fat man shook his head without rancor. I have plenty of money,thank you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard.... Come, he addressed her husband,if you get up, I'll drive you home. I warn you, be more careful in thefuture! Sometimes, he added musingly, I almost wish you would letsomething happen. Then my problem would not be any problem, would it? Gabriel shivered. I'll be careful, he vowed. I promise—I'll becareful. When he was sure that his charge was safely tucked in for the night,the fat man checked his personal possessions. He then requested a taxidriver to take him to the nearest zarquil game. The driver accepted thecommission phlegmatically. Perhaps he was more hardened than the othershad been; perhaps he was unaware that the fat man was not a desperateor despairing individual seeking one last chance, but what was knowncolloquially as a flying dutchman, a man, or woman, who went fromone zarquil game to another, loving the thrill of the sport, if youcould call it that, for its own sake, and not for the futile hope itextended and which was its sole shred of claim to moral justification.Perhaps—and this was the most likely hypothesis—he just didn't care. Zarquil was extremely illegal, of course—so much so that there weremany legitimate citizens who weren't quite sure just what the wordimplied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors sodeliciously hinted at by the fax sheets under the generic term ofcrimes against nature. Actually the phrase was more appropriate tozarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonlyapplied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well asnature—in which victim had to be considered as guilty as perpetrator;otherwise the whole legal structure of society would collapse. <doc-sep>Playing the game was fabulously expensive; it had to be to make itprofitable for the Vinzz to run it. Those odd creatures from Altair'sseventh planet cared nothing for the welfare of the completely alienhuman beings; all they wanted was to feather their own pockets withinterstellar credits, so that they could return to Vinau and buy manyslaves. For, on Vinau, bodies were of little account, and so to themzarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs.Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never beenbig money in musical chairs as such. When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—asthey had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond thelaw—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth courtcould give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose lifespanned approximately two thousand terrestrial years. And capitalpunishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved theterrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weaponscould kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expiredafter a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, becausetrade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace betweenVinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entranceof apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. The taxi driver took the fat man to one of the rather seedy locales inwhich the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted toconduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible.But the front door swung open on an interior that lacked the opulenceof the usual Vinoz set-up; it was down-right shabby, the dim olivelight hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That wasthe trouble in these smaller towns—you ran greater risks of gettinginvolved in games where the players had not been carefully screened. The Vinoz games were usually clean, because that paid off better, but,when profits were lacking, the Vinzz were capable of sliding off intodarkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely tohave trouble in making ends meet, because everybody in the parish kneweverybody else far too well. The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive incoming to such desolate, off-trail places—hoping that eventuallydisaster would hit the one who pursued him. Somehow, such a plan seemedtoo logical for the man he was haunting. However, beggars could not be choosers. The fat man paid off theheli-driver and entered the zarquil house. One? the small greencreature in the slightly frayed robe asked. One, the fat man answered. III The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright raysfrom the stranger's gun lancing out after him in flamboyant but futilepatterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angularfeatures, made no attempt to follow. Instead, he bent over to examineGabriel Lockard's form, appropriately outstretched in the gutter. Onlyweighted out, he muttered, he'll be all right. Whatever possessed youtwo to come out to a place like this? I really think Gabriel must be possessed.... the girl said, mostlyto herself. I had no idea of the kind of place it was going to beuntil he brought me here. The others were bad, but this is even worse.It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it? It does indeed, the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It wasgrowing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protectthem from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathableand it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The girl looked closely at him. You look different, but you are thesame man who pulled us out of that aircar crash, aren't you? And beforethat the man in the gray suit? And before that...? The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. Yes, I'm all ofthem. Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are peoplewho go around changing their bodies like—like hats? Automatically shereached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-palehair, for she was always conscious of her appearance; if she had notbeen so before marriage, Gabriel would have taught her that. <doc-sep>He smiled again, but coughed instead of speaking. But why do you do it? Why! Do you like it? Or is it because ofGabriel? She was growing a little frantic; there was menace hereand she could not understand it nor determine whether or not she wasincluded in its scope. Do you want to keep him from recognizing you;is that it? Ask him. He won't tell me; he never tells me anything. We just keep running. Ididn't recognize it as running at first, but now I realize that's whatwe've been doing ever since we were married. And running from you, Ithink? There was no change of expression on the man's gaunt face, and shewondered how much control he had over a body that, though second- orthird- or fourth-hand, must be new to him. How well could he make itrespond? What was it like to step into another person's casing? But shemust not let herself think that way or she would find herself lookingfor a zarquil game. It would be one way of escaping Gabriel, but not,she thought, the best way; her body was much too good a one to risk socasually. <doc-sep>It was beginning to snow. Light, feathery flakes drifted down on herhusband's immobile body. She pulled her thick coat—of fur taken fromsome animal who had lived and died light-years away—more closely aboutherself. The thin young man began to cough again. Overhead a tiny star seemed to detach itself from the pale flat diskof the Moon and hurl itself upward—one of the interstellar shipsembarking on its long voyage to distant suns. She wished that somehowshe could be on it, but she was here, on this solitary old world in abarren solar system, with her unconscious husband and a strange man whofollowed them, and it looked as if here she would stay ... all three ofthem would stay.... If you're after Gabriel, planning to hurt him, she asked, why thendo you keep helping him? I am not helping him . And he knows that. You'll change again tonight, won't you? she babbled. You alwayschange after you ... meet us? I think I'm beginning to be able toidentify you now, even when you're ... wearing a new body; there'ssomething about you that doesn't change. Too bad he got married, the young man said. I could have followedhim for an eternity and he would never have been able to pick me outfrom the crowd. Too bad he got married anyway, he added, his voiceless impersonal, for your sake. She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, butshe would not admit that to an outsider. Though this man was hardly anoutsider; he was part of their small family group—as long as she hadknown Gabriel, so long he must have known her. And she began to suspectthat he was even more closely involved than that. Why must you change again? she persisted, obliquely approaching thesubject she feared. You have a pretty good body there. Why run therisk of getting a bad one? This isn't a good body, he said. It's diseased. Sure, nobody'ssupposed to play the game who hasn't passed a thorough medicalexamination. But in the places to which your husband has been leadingme, they're often not too particular, as long as the player has plentyof foliage. How—long will it last you? Four or five months, if I'm careful. He smiled. But don't worry, ifthat's what you're doing; I'll get it passed on before then. It'll beexpensive—that's all. Bad landing for the guy who gets it, but thenit was tough on me too, wasn't it? But how did you get into this ... pursuit? she asked again. And whyare you doing it? People didn't have any traffic with Gabriel Lockardfor fun, not after they got to know him. And this man certainly shouldknow him better than most. Ask your husband. The original Gabriel Lockard looked down at the prostrate,snow-powdered figure of the man who had stolen his body and his name,and stirred it with his toe. I'd better call a cab—he might freeze todeath. He signaled and a cab came. Tell him, when he comes to, he said to the girl as he and the driverlifted the heavy form of her husband into the helicar, that I'mgetting pretty tired of this. He stopped for a long spell of coughing.Tell him that sometimes I wonder whether cutting off my nose wouldn't,in the long run, be most beneficial for my face. <doc-sep>Sorry, the Vinzz said impersonally, in English that was perfectexcept for the slight dampening of the sibilants, but I'm afraid youcannot play. Why not? The emaciated young man began to put on his clothes. You know why. Your body is worthless. And this is a reputable house. But I have plenty of money. The young man coughed. The Vinzzshrugged. I'll pay you twice the regular fee. The green one shook his head. Regrettably, I do mean what I say. Thisgame is really clean. In a town like this? That is the reason we can afford to be honest. The Vinzz' tendrilsquivered in what the man had come to recognize as amusement throughlong, but necessarily superficial acquaintance with the Vinzz. Hisheavy robe of what looked like moss-green velvet, but might have beenvelvet-green moss, encrusted with oddly faceted alien jewels, swungwith him. We do a lot of business here, he said unnecessarily, for the wholeset-up spelled wealth far beyond the dreams of the man, and he was byno means poor when it came to worldly goods. Why don't you try anothertown where they're not so particular? The young man smiled wryly. Just his luck to stumble on a sunny game.He never liked to risk following his quarry in the same configuration.And even though only the girl had actually seen him this time, hewouldn't feel at ease until he had made the usual body-shift. Washe changing because of Gabriel, he wondered, or was he using his owndiscoverment and identification simply as an excuse to cover the factthat none of the bodies that fell to his lot ever seemed to fit him?Was he activated solely by revenge or as much by the hope that in thehazards of the game he might, impossible though it now seemed, some daywin another body that approached perfection as nearly as his originalcasing had? He didn't know. However, there seemed to be no help for it now; hewould have to wait until they reached the next town, unless the girl,seeing him reappear in the same guise, would guess what had happenedand tell her husband. He himself had been a fool to admit to her thatthe hulk he inhabited was a sick one; he still couldn't understandhow he could so casually have entrusted her with so vital a piece ofinformation. <doc-sep>The Vinzz had been locking antennae with another of his kind. Now theydetached, and the first approached the man once more. There is, as ithappens, a body available for a private game, he lisped. No questionsto be asked or answered. All I can tell you is that it is in goodhealth. The man hesitated. But unable to pass the screening? he murmuredaloud. A criminal then. The green one's face—if you could call it a face—remained impassive. Male? Of course, the Vinzz said primly. His kind did have certain ultimatestandards to which they adhered rigidly, and one of those was thecurious tabu against mixed games, strictly enforced even though itkept them from tapping a vast source of potential players. There hadalso never been a recorded instance of humans and extraterrestrialsexchanging identities, but whether that was the result of tabu orbiological impossibility, no one could tell. It might merely be prudence on the Vinzz' part—if it had everbeen proved that an alien life-form had desecrated a human body,Earthmen would clamor for war ... for on this planet humanity heldits self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despitebeing unquestionably the stronger, were pragmatic pacifists. It hadbeen undoubtedly some rabid member of the anti-alien groups active onTerra who had started the rumor that the planetary slogan of Vinau was,Don't beat 'em; cheat 'em. It would have to be something pretty nuclear for the other guy to takesuch a risk. The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. How much? Thirty thousand credits. Why, that's three times the usual rate! The other will pay five times the usual rate. Oh, all right, the delicate young man gave in. It was a terrificrisk he was agreeing to take, because, if the other was a criminal, hehimself would, upon assuming the body, assume responsibility for allthe crimes it had committed. But there was nothing else he could do. <doc-sep>He looked at himself in the mirror and found he had a fine new body;tall and strikingly handsome in a dark, coarse-featured way. Nothing tomatch the one he had lost, in his opinion, but there were probably manypeople who might find this one preferable. No identification in thepockets, but it wasn't necessary; he recognized the face. Not that itwas a very famous or even notorious one, but the dutchman was a carefulstudent of the wanted fax that had decorated public buildings fromtime immemorial, for he was ever mindful of the possibility that hemight one day find himself trapped unwittingly in the body of one ofthe men depicted there. And he knew that this particular man, thoughnot an important criminal in any sense of the word, was one whom thepolice had been ordered to burn on sight. The abolishing of capitalpunishment could not abolish the necessity for self-defense, and theman in question was not one who would let himself be captured easily,nor whom the police intended to capture easily. This might be a lucky break for me after all , the new tenant thought,as he tried to adjust himself to the body. It, too, despite its obviousrude health, was not a very comfortable fit. I can do a lot with ahulk like this. And maybe I'm cleverer than the original owner; maybeI'll be able to get away with it. IV Look, Gabe, the girl said, don't try to fool me! I know youtoo well. And I know you have that man's—the real GabrielLockard's—body. She put unnecessary stardust on her nose as shewatched her husband's reflection in the dressing table mirror. Lockard—Lockard's body, at any rate—sat up and felt his unshavenchin. That what he tell you? No, he didn't tell me anything really—just suggested I ask youwhatever I want to know. But why else should he guard somebody heobviously hates the way he hates you? Only because he doesn't want tosee his body spoiled. It is a pretty good body, isn't it? Gabe flexed softening musclesand made no attempt to deny her charge; very probably he was relievedat having someone with whom to share his secret. Not as good as it must have been, the girl said, turning and lookingat him without admiration. Not if you keep on the way you're coursing.Gabe, why don't you...? Give it back to him, eh? Lockard regarded his wife appraisingly.You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd be his wife then. That would benice—a sound mind in a sound body. But don't you think that's a littlemore than you deserve? I wasn't thinking about that, Gabe, she said truthfully enough, forshe hadn't followed the idea to its logical conclusion. Of course I'dgo with you, she went on, now knowing she lied, when you got your ...old body back. Sure , she thought, I'd keep going with you to farjeen houses andthrill-mills. Actually she had accompanied him to a thrill-mill onlyonce, and from then on, despite all his threats, she had refused to gowith him again. But that once had been enough; nothing could ever washthat experience from her mind or her body. You wouldn't be able to get your old body back, though, would you?she went on. You don't know where it's gone, and neither, I suppose,does he? I don't want to know! he spat. I wouldn't want it if I could getit back. Whoever it adhered to probably killed himself as soon as helooked in a mirror. He swung long legs over the side of his bed.Christ, anything would be better than that! You can't imagine what ahulk I had! Oh, yes, I can, she said incautiously. You must have had a body tomatch your character. Pity you could only change one. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are the zarquil games and what is their significance?

An alien race called the Vinzz, from Altair's seventh planet, run the zarquil games as a way to make money so that they can buy slaves. Through these games, humans are able to swap bodies so they can experience what it is like to live as someone else. People who participate frequently are known as flying dutchmen, and the stranger in the story is called this a few times. These games are illegal and dangerous, and you must have a lot of money to participate. In larger cities with more resources and oversight, all of the potential bodies go through a detailed vetting process to make sure that the body in question does not have any illnesses or a criminal past. When the stranger ends up with a sick body near the end of the story, his only option is to accept a body with a criminal past because nobody will accept an ill body at a reputable game. Public perception shows that society looks down on these games. The cab driver that the stranger meets explicitly says that he looks down on dutchmen, saying he hates them, and very reluctantly takes the stranger to a zarquil game because he is promised the money and he knows the stranger has a gun. It is this game that caused the original Gabriel Lockard to lose his body and identity, and it is through this game that he rotates through nameless people in order to follow the new Lockard to keep an eye on the body.

What is the relationship between Gabe Lockard and the stranger? [SEP] <s> Bodyguard By CHRISTOPHER GRIMM Illustrated by CAVAT [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] When overwhelming danger is constantly present,of course a man is entitled to have a bodyguard. The annoyance was that he had to do it himself ... and his body would not cooperate! The man at the bar was exceptionally handsome, and he knew it. So didthe light-haired girl at his side, and so did the nondescript man inthe gray suit who was watching them from a booth in the corner. Everyone in the room was aware of the big young man, and most of thehumans present were resentful, for he handled himself consciously andarrogantly, as if his appearance alone were enough to make him superiorto anyone. Even the girl with him was growing restless, for she wasaccustomed to adulation herself, and next to Gabriel Lockard she wasalmost ordinary-looking. As for the extraterrestrials—it was a free bar—they were merelyamused, since to them all men were pathetically and irredeemablyhideous. Gabe threw his arm wide in one of his expansive gestures. There was ashort man standing next to the pair—young, as most men and women werein that time, thanks to the science which could stave off decay, thoughnot death—but with no other apparent physical virtue, for plasticsurgery had not fulfilled its bright promise of the twentieth century. The drink he had been raising to his lips splashed all over hisclothing; the glass shattered at his feet. Now he was not only a ratherugly little man, but also a rather ridiculous one—or at least he felthe was, which was what mattered. Sorry, colleague, Gabe said lazily. All my fault. You must let mebuy you a replacement. He gestured to the bartender. Another of thesame for my fellow-man here. The ugly man dabbed futilely at his dripping trousers with a clothhastily supplied by the management. You must allow me to pay your cleaning bill, Gabe said, taking outhis wallet and extracting several credit notes without seeming to lookat them. Here, have yourself a new suit on me. You could use one was implied. And that, coming on top of Gabriel Lockard's spectacular appearance,was too much. The ugly man picked up the drink the bartender had justset before him and started to hurl it, glass and all, into Lockard'shandsome face. <doc-sep>Suddenly a restraining hand was laid upon his arm. Don't do that, thenondescript man who had been sitting in the corner advised. He removedthe glass from the little man's slackening grasp. You wouldn't want togo to jail because of him. The ugly man gave him a bewildered stare. Then, seeing the forcesnow ranged against him—including his own belated prudence—were toostrong, he stumbled off. He hadn't really wanted to fight, only tosmash back, and now it was too late for that. Gabe studied the newcomer curiously. So, it's you again? The man in the gray suit smiled. Who else in any world would stand upfor you? I should think you'd have given up by now. Not that I mind having youaround, of course, Gabriel added too quickly. You do come in usefulat times, you know. So you don't mind having me around? The nondescript man smiled again.Then what are you running from, if not me? You can't be running fromyourself—you lost yourself a while back, remember? Gabe ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Come on, have a drinkwith me, fellow-man, and let's let bygones be bygones. I owe yousomething—I admit that. Maybe we can even work this thing out. I drank with you once too often, the nondescript man said. Andthings worked out fine, didn't they? For you. His eyes studied theother man's incredibly handsome young face, noted the suggestion ofbags under the eyes, the beginning of slackness at the lips, and werenot pleased with what they saw. Watch yourself, colleague, he warnedas he left. Soon you might not be worth the saving. Who was that, Gabe? the girl asked. He shrugged. I never saw him before in my life. Of course, knowinghim, she assumed he was lying, but, as a matter of fact, just then hehappened to have been telling the truth. <doc-sep>Once the illuminators were extinguished in Gabriel Lockard's hotelsuite, it seemed reasonably certain to the man in the gray suit, ashe watched from the street, that his quarry would not go out againthat night. So he went to the nearest airstation. There he inserted acoin in a locker, into which he put most of his personal possessions,reserving only a sum of money. After setting the locker to respond tothe letter combination bodyguard , he went out into the street. If he had met with a fatal accident at that point, there would havebeen nothing on his body to identify him. As a matter of fact, no realidentification was possible, for he was no one and had been no one foryears. The nondescript man hailed a cruising helicab. Where to, fellow-man?the driver asked. I'm new in the parish, the other man replied and let it hang there. Oh...? Females...? Narcophagi...? Thrill-mills? But to each of these questions the nondescript man shook his head. Games? the driver finally asked, although he could guess what waswanted by then. Dice...? Roulette...? Farjeen? Is there a good zarquil game in town? The driver moved so he could see the face of the man behind him in theteleview. A very ordinary face. Look, colleague, why don't you commitsuicide? It's cleaner and quicker. I can't contact your attitude, the passenger said with a thinsmile. Bet you've never tried the game yourself. Each time ithappens, there's a ... well, there's no experience to match it at athrill-mill. He gave a sigh that was almost an audible shudder, andwhich the driver misinterpreted as an expression of ecstasy. Each time, eh? You're a dutchman then? The driver spat out of thewindow. If it wasn't for the nibble, I'd throw you right out of thecab. Without even bothering to take it down even. I hate dutchmen ...anybody with any legitimate feelings hates 'em. But it would be silly to let personal prejudice stand in the way of acommission, wouldn't it? the other man asked coolly. Of course. You'll need plenty of foliage, though. I have sufficient funds. I also have a gun. You're the dictator, the driver agreed sullenly. II It was a dark and rainy night in early fall. Gabe Lockard was in nocondition to drive the helicar. However, he was stubborn. Let me take the controls, honey, the light-haired girl urged, but heshook his handsome head. Show you I can do something 'sides look pretty, he said thickly,referring to an earlier and not amicable conversation they had held,and of which she still bore the reminder on one thickly made-up cheek. Fortunately the car was flying low, contrary to regulations, so thatwhen they smashed into the beacon tower on the outskirts of the littletown, they didn't have far to fall. And hardly had their car crashedon the ground when the car that had been following them landed, and ashort fat man was puffing toward them through the mist. To the girl's indignation, the stranger not only hauled Gabe out ontothe dripping grass first, but stopped and deliberately examined theyoung man by the light of his minilume, almost as if she weren't thereat all. Only when she started to struggle out by herself did he seem toremember her existence. He pulled her away from the wreck just a momentbefore the fuel tank exploded and the 'copter went up in flames. Gabe opened his eyes and saw the fat man gazing down at himspeculatively. My guardian angel, he mumbled—shock had sobered hima little, but not enough. He sat up. Guess I'm not hurt or you'd havethrown me back in. And that's no joke, the fat man agreed. The girl shivered and at that moment Gabriel suddenly seemed to recallthat he had not been alone. How about Helen? She on course? Seems to be, the fat man said. You all right, miss? he asked,glancing toward the girl without, she thought, much apparent concern. Mrs. , Gabriel corrected. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. GabrielLockard, he said, bowing from his seated position toward the girl.Pretty bauble, isn't she? I'm delighted to meet you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard, the fat man said,looking at her intently. His small eyes seemed to strip the make-upfrom her cheek and examine the livid bruise underneath. I hopeyou'll be worthy of the name. The light given off by the flamingcar flickered on his face and Gabriel's and, she supposed, hers too.Otherwise, darkness surrounded the three of them. There were no public illuminators this far out—even in town thelights were dimming and not being replaced fast enough nor by thenewer models. The town, the civilization, the planet all were old andbeginning to slide downhill.... Gabe gave a short laugh, for no reason that she could see. <doc-sep>There was the feeling that she had encountered the fat man before,which was, of course, absurd. She had an excellent memory for faces andhis was not included in her gallery. The girl pulled her thin jacketcloser about her chilly body. Aren't you going to introduce your—yourfriend to me, Gabe? I don't know who he is, Gabe said almost merrily, except that he'sno friend of mine. Do you have a name, stranger? Of course I have a name. The fat man extracted an identificationcard from his wallet and read it. Says here I'm Dominic Bianchi, andDominic Bianchi is a retail milgot dealer.... Only he isn't a retailmilgot dealer any more; the poor fellow went bankrupt a couple of weeksago, and now he isn't ... anything. You saved our lives, the girl said. I'd like to give you some tokenof my—of our appreciation. Her hand reached toward her credit-carrierwith deliberate insult. He might have saved her life, but onlycasually, as a by-product of some larger scheme, and her appreciationheld little gratitude. The fat man shook his head without rancor. I have plenty of money,thank you, Mrs. Gabriel Lockard.... Come, he addressed her husband,if you get up, I'll drive you home. I warn you, be more careful in thefuture! Sometimes, he added musingly, I almost wish you would letsomething happen. Then my problem would not be any problem, would it? Gabriel shivered. I'll be careful, he vowed. I promise—I'll becareful. When he was sure that his charge was safely tucked in for the night,the fat man checked his personal possessions. He then requested a taxidriver to take him to the nearest zarquil game. The driver accepted thecommission phlegmatically. Perhaps he was more hardened than the othershad been; perhaps he was unaware that the fat man was not a desperateor despairing individual seeking one last chance, but what was knowncolloquially as a flying dutchman, a man, or woman, who went fromone zarquil game to another, loving the thrill of the sport, if youcould call it that, for its own sake, and not for the futile hope itextended and which was its sole shred of claim to moral justification.Perhaps—and this was the most likely hypothesis—he just didn't care. Zarquil was extremely illegal, of course—so much so that there weremany legitimate citizens who weren't quite sure just what the wordimplied, knowing merely that it was one of those nameless horrors sodeliciously hinted at by the fax sheets under the generic term ofcrimes against nature. Actually the phrase was more appropriate tozarquil than to most of the other activities to which it was commonlyapplied. And this was one crime—for it was crime in law as well asnature—in which victim had to be considered as guilty as perpetrator;otherwise the whole legal structure of society would collapse. <doc-sep>Playing the game was fabulously expensive; it had to be to make itprofitable for the Vinzz to run it. Those odd creatures from Altair'sseventh planet cared nothing for the welfare of the completely alienhuman beings; all they wanted was to feather their own pockets withinterstellar credits, so that they could return to Vinau and buy manyslaves. For, on Vinau, bodies were of little account, and so to themzarquil was the equivalent of the terrestrial game musical chairs.Which was why they came to Terra to make profits—there has never beenbig money in musical chairs as such. When the zarquil operators were apprehended, which was not frequent—asthey had strange powers, which, not being definable, were beyond thelaw—they suffered their sentences with equanimity. No Earth courtcould give an effective prison sentence to a creature whose lifespanned approximately two thousand terrestrial years. And capitalpunishment had become obsolete on Terra, which very possibly saved theterrestrials embarrassment, for it was not certain that their weaponscould kill the Vinzz ... or whether, in fact, the Vinzz merely expiredafter a period of years out of sheer boredom. Fortunately, becausetrade was more profitable than war, there had always been peace betweenVinau and Terra, and, for that reason, Terra could not bar the entranceof apparently respectable citizens of a friendly planet. The taxi driver took the fat man to one of the rather seedy locales inwhich the zarquil games were usually found, for the Vinzz attempted toconduct their operations with as much unobtrusiveness as was possible.But the front door swung open on an interior that lacked the opulenceof the usual Vinoz set-up; it was down-right shabby, the dim olivelight hinting of squalor rather than forbidden pleasures. That wasthe trouble in these smaller towns—you ran greater risks of gettinginvolved in games where the players had not been carefully screened. The Vinoz games were usually clean, because that paid off better, but,when profits were lacking, the Vinzz were capable of sliding off intodarkside practices. Naturally the small-town houses were more likely tohave trouble in making ends meet, because everybody in the parish kneweverybody else far too well. The fat man wondered whether that had been his quarry's motive incoming to such desolate, off-trail places—hoping that eventuallydisaster would hit the one who pursued him. Somehow, such a plan seemedtoo logical for the man he was haunting. However, beggars could not be choosers. The fat man paid off theheli-driver and entered the zarquil house. One? the small greencreature in the slightly frayed robe asked. One, the fat man answered. III The would-be thief fled down the dark alley, with the hot bright raysfrom the stranger's gun lancing out after him in flamboyant but futilepatterns. The stranger, a thin young man with delicate, angularfeatures, made no attempt to follow. Instead, he bent over to examineGabriel Lockard's form, appropriately outstretched in the gutter. Onlyweighted out, he muttered, he'll be all right. Whatever possessed youtwo to come out to a place like this? I really think Gabriel must be possessed.... the girl said, mostlyto herself. I had no idea of the kind of place it was going to beuntil he brought me here. The others were bad, but this is even worse.It almost seems as if he went around looking for trouble, doesn't it? It does indeed, the stranger agreed, coughing a little. It wasgrowing colder and, on this world, the cities had no domes to protectthem from the climate, because it was Earth and the air was breathableand it wasn't worth the trouble of fixing up. The girl looked closely at him. You look different, but you are thesame man who pulled us out of that aircar crash, aren't you? And beforethat the man in the gray suit? And before that...? The young man's cheekbones protruded as he smiled. Yes, I'm all ofthem. Then what they say about the zarquil games is true? There are peoplewho go around changing their bodies like—like hats? Automatically shereached to adjust the expensive bit of blue synthetic on her moon-palehair, for she was always conscious of her appearance; if she had notbeen so before marriage, Gabriel would have taught her that. <doc-sep>He smiled again, but coughed instead of speaking. But why do you do it? Why! Do you like it? Or is it because ofGabriel? She was growing a little frantic; there was menace hereand she could not understand it nor determine whether or not she wasincluded in its scope. Do you want to keep him from recognizing you;is that it? Ask him. He won't tell me; he never tells me anything. We just keep running. Ididn't recognize it as running at first, but now I realize that's whatwe've been doing ever since we were married. And running from you, Ithink? There was no change of expression on the man's gaunt face, and shewondered how much control he had over a body that, though second- orthird- or fourth-hand, must be new to him. How well could he make itrespond? What was it like to step into another person's casing? But shemust not let herself think that way or she would find herself lookingfor a zarquil game. It would be one way of escaping Gabriel, but not,she thought, the best way; her body was much too good a one to risk socasually. <doc-sep>It was beginning to snow. Light, feathery flakes drifted down on herhusband's immobile body. She pulled her thick coat—of fur taken fromsome animal who had lived and died light-years away—more closely aboutherself. The thin young man began to cough again. Overhead a tiny star seemed to detach itself from the pale flat diskof the Moon and hurl itself upward—one of the interstellar shipsembarking on its long voyage to distant suns. She wished that somehowshe could be on it, but she was here, on this solitary old world in abarren solar system, with her unconscious husband and a strange man whofollowed them, and it looked as if here she would stay ... all three ofthem would stay.... If you're after Gabriel, planning to hurt him, she asked, why thendo you keep helping him? I am not helping him . And he knows that. You'll change again tonight, won't you? she babbled. You alwayschange after you ... meet us? I think I'm beginning to be able toidentify you now, even when you're ... wearing a new body; there'ssomething about you that doesn't change. Too bad he got married, the young man said. I could have followedhim for an eternity and he would never have been able to pick me outfrom the crowd. Too bad he got married anyway, he added, his voiceless impersonal, for your sake. She had come to the same conclusion in her six months of marriage, butshe would not admit that to an outsider. Though this man was hardly anoutsider; he was part of their small family group—as long as she hadknown Gabriel, so long he must have known her. And she began to suspectthat he was even more closely involved than that. Why must you change again? she persisted, obliquely approaching thesubject she feared. You have a pretty good body there. Why run therisk of getting a bad one? This isn't a good body, he said. It's diseased. Sure, nobody'ssupposed to play the game who hasn't passed a thorough medicalexamination. But in the places to which your husband has been leadingme, they're often not too particular, as long as the player has plentyof foliage. How—long will it last you? Four or five months, if I'm careful. He smiled. But don't worry, ifthat's what you're doing; I'll get it passed on before then. It'll beexpensive—that's all. Bad landing for the guy who gets it, but thenit was tough on me too, wasn't it? But how did you get into this ... pursuit? she asked again. And whyare you doing it? People didn't have any traffic with Gabriel Lockardfor fun, not after they got to know him. And this man certainly shouldknow him better than most. Ask your husband. The original Gabriel Lockard looked down at the prostrate,snow-powdered figure of the man who had stolen his body and his name,and stirred it with his toe. I'd better call a cab—he might freeze todeath. He signaled and a cab came. Tell him, when he comes to, he said to the girl as he and the driverlifted the heavy form of her husband into the helicar, that I'mgetting pretty tired of this. He stopped for a long spell of coughing.Tell him that sometimes I wonder whether cutting off my nose wouldn't,in the long run, be most beneficial for my face. <doc-sep>Sorry, the Vinzz said impersonally, in English that was perfectexcept for the slight dampening of the sibilants, but I'm afraid youcannot play. Why not? The emaciated young man began to put on his clothes. You know why. Your body is worthless. And this is a reputable house. But I have plenty of money. The young man coughed. The Vinzzshrugged. I'll pay you twice the regular fee. The green one shook his head. Regrettably, I do mean what I say. Thisgame is really clean. In a town like this? That is the reason we can afford to be honest. The Vinzz' tendrilsquivered in what the man had come to recognize as amusement throughlong, but necessarily superficial acquaintance with the Vinzz. Hisheavy robe of what looked like moss-green velvet, but might have beenvelvet-green moss, encrusted with oddly faceted alien jewels, swungwith him. We do a lot of business here, he said unnecessarily, for the wholeset-up spelled wealth far beyond the dreams of the man, and he was byno means poor when it came to worldly goods. Why don't you try anothertown where they're not so particular? The young man smiled wryly. Just his luck to stumble on a sunny game.He never liked to risk following his quarry in the same configuration.And even though only the girl had actually seen him this time, hewouldn't feel at ease until he had made the usual body-shift. Washe changing because of Gabriel, he wondered, or was he using his owndiscoverment and identification simply as an excuse to cover the factthat none of the bodies that fell to his lot ever seemed to fit him?Was he activated solely by revenge or as much by the hope that in thehazards of the game he might, impossible though it now seemed, some daywin another body that approached perfection as nearly as his originalcasing had? He didn't know. However, there seemed to be no help for it now; hewould have to wait until they reached the next town, unless the girl,seeing him reappear in the same guise, would guess what had happenedand tell her husband. He himself had been a fool to admit to her thatthe hulk he inhabited was a sick one; he still couldn't understandhow he could so casually have entrusted her with so vital a piece ofinformation. <doc-sep>The Vinzz had been locking antennae with another of his kind. Now theydetached, and the first approached the man once more. There is, as ithappens, a body available for a private game, he lisped. No questionsto be asked or answered. All I can tell you is that it is in goodhealth. The man hesitated. But unable to pass the screening? he murmuredaloud. A criminal then. The green one's face—if you could call it a face—remained impassive. Male? Of course, the Vinzz said primly. His kind did have certain ultimatestandards to which they adhered rigidly, and one of those was thecurious tabu against mixed games, strictly enforced even though itkept them from tapping a vast source of potential players. There hadalso never been a recorded instance of humans and extraterrestrialsexchanging identities, but whether that was the result of tabu orbiological impossibility, no one could tell. It might merely be prudence on the Vinzz' part—if it had everbeen proved that an alien life-form had desecrated a human body,Earthmen would clamor for war ... for on this planet humanity heldits self-bestowed purity of birthright dear—and the Vinzz, despitebeing unquestionably the stronger, were pragmatic pacifists. It hadbeen undoubtedly some rabid member of the anti-alien groups active onTerra who had started the rumor that the planetary slogan of Vinau was,Don't beat 'em; cheat 'em. It would have to be something pretty nuclear for the other guy to takesuch a risk. The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. How much? Thirty thousand credits. Why, that's three times the usual rate! The other will pay five times the usual rate. Oh, all right, the delicate young man gave in. It was a terrificrisk he was agreeing to take, because, if the other was a criminal, hehimself would, upon assuming the body, assume responsibility for allthe crimes it had committed. But there was nothing else he could do. <doc-sep>He looked at himself in the mirror and found he had a fine new body;tall and strikingly handsome in a dark, coarse-featured way. Nothing tomatch the one he had lost, in his opinion, but there were probably manypeople who might find this one preferable. No identification in thepockets, but it wasn't necessary; he recognized the face. Not that itwas a very famous or even notorious one, but the dutchman was a carefulstudent of the wanted fax that had decorated public buildings fromtime immemorial, for he was ever mindful of the possibility that hemight one day find himself trapped unwittingly in the body of one ofthe men depicted there. And he knew that this particular man, thoughnot an important criminal in any sense of the word, was one whom thepolice had been ordered to burn on sight. The abolishing of capitalpunishment could not abolish the necessity for self-defense, and theman in question was not one who would let himself be captured easily,nor whom the police intended to capture easily. This might be a lucky break for me after all , the new tenant thought,as he tried to adjust himself to the body. It, too, despite its obviousrude health, was not a very comfortable fit. I can do a lot with ahulk like this. And maybe I'm cleverer than the original owner; maybeI'll be able to get away with it. IV Look, Gabe, the girl said, don't try to fool me! I know youtoo well. And I know you have that man's—the real GabrielLockard's—body. She put unnecessary stardust on her nose as shewatched her husband's reflection in the dressing table mirror. Lockard—Lockard's body, at any rate—sat up and felt his unshavenchin. That what he tell you? No, he didn't tell me anything really—just suggested I ask youwhatever I want to know. But why else should he guard somebody heobviously hates the way he hates you? Only because he doesn't want tosee his body spoiled. It is a pretty good body, isn't it? Gabe flexed softening musclesand made no attempt to deny her charge; very probably he was relievedat having someone with whom to share his secret. Not as good as it must have been, the girl said, turning and lookingat him without admiration. Not if you keep on the way you're coursing.Gabe, why don't you...? Give it back to him, eh? Lockard regarded his wife appraisingly.You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd be his wife then. That would benice—a sound mind in a sound body. But don't you think that's a littlemore than you deserve? I wasn't thinking about that, Gabe, she said truthfully enough, forshe hadn't followed the idea to its logical conclusion. Of course I'dgo with you, she went on, now knowing she lied, when you got your ...old body back. Sure , she thought, I'd keep going with you to farjeen houses andthrill-mills. Actually she had accompanied him to a thrill-mill onlyonce, and from then on, despite all his threats, she had refused to gowith him again. But that once had been enough; nothing could ever washthat experience from her mind or her body. You wouldn't be able to get your old body back, though, would you?she went on. You don't know where it's gone, and neither, I suppose,does he? I don't want to know! he spat. I wouldn't want it if I could getit back. Whoever it adhered to probably killed himself as soon as helooked in a mirror. He swung long legs over the side of his bed.Christ, anything would be better than that! You can't imagine what ahulk I had! Oh, yes, I can, she said incautiously. You must have had a body tomatch your character. Pity you could only change one. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship between Gabe Lockard and the stranger?

The stranger is actually the original Gabriel Lockard, and the man we know as Lockard now is the man who took this body a while ago. The new Lockard has some sense of who the stranger is, though he knows he will never recognize him because the stranger switches bodies frequently. The stranger is keeping an eye out on his original body, trying to protect it, with a bit of hope that he may one day get it back. They have a tenuous and superficial relationship, with the new Lockard being somewhat hesitant about the stranger's involvement in his life. The stranger makes it clear that it is not Lockard he is protecting, but just the body he is in. Through this story, the stranger keeps a man from throwing a glass in Lockard's face at a bar, pulls Lockard and his wife out of a helicar crash, and stops a robbery from happening. There is bitterness and exhaustion on both sides of this relationship, and at the beginning of the story the new Lockard tries to offer the stranger a drink so they can sort things out, but the stranger refuses and it seems he would only be appeased if he had his original body back.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> The Winning of the Moon BY KRIS NEVILLE The enemy was friendly enough. Trouble was—their friendship was as dangerous as their hate! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] General Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast wasscheduled for the following morning. Major Winship, after receiving the message, discussed precautions withthe three other Americans. Next morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donnedtheir space suits and went and sat outside the dome, waiting. The sunrose with its bright, silent clap of radiance. Black pools of shadowslay in harsh contrast, their edges drawn with geometric precision. Major Winship attempted unsuccessfully to communicate with BaseGagarin. Will you please request the general to keep us informed onthe progress of the countdown? Is Pinov, came the reply. Help? Nyet , said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. Count down.Progress. When—boom? Is Pinov, came the reply. Boom! Boom! said Major Winship in exasperation. Boom! said Pinov happily. When? Boom—boom! said Pinov. Oh, nuts. Major Winship cut out the circuit. They've got Pinov onemergency watch this morning, he explained to the other Americans.The one that doesn't speak English. He's done it deliberately, said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the fourAmericans. How are we going to know when it's over? No one bothered to respond. They sat for a while in silence while theshadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems. Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, This is a little ridiculous. I'm goingto switch over to their channel. Rap if you want me. He sat transfixedfor several minutes. Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can'ttell a thing that's going on. In the airless void of the moon, the blast itself would be silent. Amoth's wing of dust would, perhaps, rise and settle beyond the horizon:no more. Static? Nope. We'll get static on these things. A small infinity seemed to pass very slowly. Major Winship shifted restlessly. My reefer's gone on the fritz.Perspiration was trickling down his face. Let's all go in, said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. It'sprobably over by now. I'll try again, Major Winship said and switched to the emergencychannel. Base Gagarin? Base Gagarin? Is Pinov. Help? Nyet. Pinov's still there, Major Winship said. Tell him, 'Help', said Capt. Wilkins, so he'll get somebody we cantalk to. I'll see them all in hell, first, Major Winship said. Five minutes later, the perspiration was rivers across his face. Thisis it, he said. I'm going in. Let's all— No. I've got to cool off. Hell, Charlie, I feel stupid sitting out here, Capt. Lawler said.The shot probably went off an hour ago. The static level hasn't gone up much, if at all. Maybe, Lt. Chandler said, it's buried too deep. Maybe so, Major Winship said. But we can't have the dome fall downaround all our ears. He stood. Whew! You guys stay put. <doc-sep>He crossed with the floating moon-motion to the airlock and entered,closing the door behind him. The darkness slowly filled with air, andthe temperature inside the suit declined steadily. At the proper momentof pressure, the inner lock slid open and Major Winship stepped intothe illuminated central area. His foot was lifted for the second stepwhen the floor beneath him rose and fell gently, pitching him forward,off balance. He stumbled against the table and ended up seated besidethe radio equipment. The ground moved again. Charlie! Charlie! I'm okay, Major Winship answered. Okay! Okay! It's— There was additional surface movement. The movement ceased. Hey, Les, how's it look? Capt. Wilkins asked. Okay from this side. Charlie, you still okay? Okay, Major Winship said. We told them this might happen, he addedbitterly. There was a wait during which everyone seemed to be holding theirbreath. I guess it's over, said Major Winship, getting to his feet. Wait abit more, there may be an after-shock. He switched once again to theemergency channel. Is Pinov, came the supremely relaxed voice. Help? Major Winship whinnied in disgust. Nyet! he snarled. To the otherAmericans: Our comrades seem unconcerned. Tough. They began to get the static for the first time. It crackled andsnapped in their speakers. They made sounds of disapproval at eachother. For a minute or two, static blanked out the communicationscompletely. It then abated to something in excess of normal. Well, Lt. Chandler commented, even though we didn't build this thingto withstand a moonquake, it seems to have stood up all right. I guess I was just— Major Winship began. Oh, hell! We're losingpressure. Where's the markers? By the lug cabinet. Got 'em, Major Winship said a moment later. He peeled back a marker and let it fall. Air currents whisked it awayand plastered it against a riveted seam of the dome. It pulsed asthough it were breathing and then it ruptured. Major Winship moved quickly to cut out the emergency air supply whichhad cut in automatically with the pressure drop. You guys wait. It'son your right side, midway up. I'll try to sheet it. He moved for the plastic sheeting. We've lost about three feet of calk out here, Capt. Lawler said. Ican see more ripping loose. You're losing pressure fast at this rate. Major Winship pressed the sheeting over the leak. How's that? Not yet. I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It'ssprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads. There was a splatter of static. Damn! Major Winship said, they should have made these things moreflexible. Still coming out. Best I can do. Major Winship stepped back. The sheet began slowlyto slide downward, then it fell away completely and lay limply on thefloor. Come on in, he said dryly. <doc-sep>With the four of them inside, it was somewhat cramped. Most of thefive hundred square feet was filled with equipment. Electrical cablestrailed loosely along the walls and were festooned from the ceiling,radiating from the connections to the outside solar cells. The livingspace was more restricted than in a submarine, with the bunks juttingout from the walls about six feet from the floor. Lt. Chandler mounted one of the bunks to give them more room. Well,he said wryly, it doesn't smell as bad now. Oops, said Major Winship. Just a second. They're coming in. Heswitched over to the emergency channel. It was General Finogenov. Major Winship! Hello! Hello, hello, hello. You A Okay? This is Major Winship. Oh! Excellent, very good. Any damage, Major? Little leak. You? Came through without damage. General Finogenov paused a moment. Whenno comment was forthcoming, he continued: Perhaps we built a bit morestrongly, Major. You did this deliberately, Major Winship said testily. No, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Major Winship, please believe me. I verymuch regret this. Very much so. I am very distressed. Depressed. Afterrepeatedly assuring you there was no danger of a quake—and then tohave something like this happen. Oh, this is very embarrassing to me.Is there anything at all we can do? Just leave us alone, thank you, Major Winship said and cut off thecommunication. What'd they say? Capt. Wilkins asked. Larry, General Finogenov said he was very embarrassed by this. That's nice, Lt. Chandler said. I'll be damned surprised, Major Winship said, if they got anyseismic data out of that shot.... Well, to hell with them, let's getthis leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound? Larry, where's the inventory? Les has got it. Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted. Larry, Major Winship said, why don't you get Earth? Okay. Capt. Wilkins got down from the bunk and Capt. Lawler ascended. Got the inventory sheet, Les? Right here. Squeezed in front of the massive transmitter, Capt. Wilkins hadenergized the circuits. There was a puzzled look on his face. He leanedhis helmet against the speaker and then shook his head sadly. We can'thear anything without any air. Major Winship looked at the microphone. Well, I'll just report and—He started to pick up the microphone and reconsidered. Yes, he said.That's right, isn't it. Capt. Wilkins flicked off the transmitter. Some days you don't mine atall, he said. Les, have you found it? It's around here somewhere. Supposed to be back here. Well, find it. Lt. Chandler began moving boxes. I saw it— Skip, help look. Capt. Lawler got down from the bunk and Major Winship mounted. Wehaven't got all day. A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. Here itis! Dozen tubes. Squeeze tubes. It's the new stuff. Major Winship got down and Capt. Wilkins got up. Marker showed it over here, Major Winship said, inching over to thewall. He traced the leak with a metallic finger. How does this stuff work? Capt. Lawler asked. They huddled over the instruction sheet. Let's see. Squeeze the tube until the diaphragm at the nozzleruptures. Extrude paste into seam. Allow to harden one hour beforeservice. Major Winship said dryly, Never mind. I notice it hardens on contactwith air. Capt. Wilkins lay back on the bunk and stared upward. He said, Nowthat makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it? How do they possibly think—? Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference, Lt. Chandler said. Someair must already have leaked into this one. It's hard as a rock. Agorilla couldn't extrude it. How're the other ones? asked Major Winship. Lt. Chandler turned and made a quick examination. Oh, they're allhard, too. Who was supposed to check? demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. The only way you can check is to extrude it, Lt. Chandler said, andif it does extrude, you've ruined it. That's that, Major Winship said. There's nothing for it but to yellhelp. II Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler took the land car to Base Gagarin. TheSoviet base was situated some ten miles toward sunset at the bottom ofa natural fold in the surface. The route was moderately direct to thetip of the gently rolling ridge. At that point, the best pathway angledleft and made an S-shaped descent to the basin. It was a one-way tripof approximately thirty exhausting minutes. Major Winship, with his deficient reefer, remained behind. Capt.Wilkins stayed for company. I want a cigarette in the worst way, Capt. Wilkins said. So do I, Larry. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Unlesssomething else goes wrong. As long as they'll loan us the calking compound, Capt. Wilkins said. Yeah, yeah, Major Winship said. Let's eat. You got any concentrate? I'm empty. I'll load you, Capt. Wilkins volunteered wearily. It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkinscursed twice during the operation. I'd hate to live in this thing forany period. I think these suits are one thing we've got over the Russians, MajorWinship said. I don't see how they can manipulate those bulky piecesof junk around. They ate. Really horrible stuff. Nutritious. After the meal, Major Winship said reflectively, Now I'd like a cup ofhot tea. I'm cooled off. Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. What brought this on? I was just thinking.... They really got it made, Larry. They've gotbetter than three thousand square feet in the main dome and better thantwelve hundred square feet in each of the two little ones. And there'sonly seven of them right now. That's living. They've been here six years longer, after all. Finogenov had a clay samovar sent up. Lemon and nutmeg, too. Real,by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His ownoffice is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. Anda wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everythingbig and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less— They've got the power-plants for it. Do you think he did that deliberately? Major Winship asked. I thinkhe's trying to force us off. I think he hoped for the quake. Gagarin'sbuilt to take it, I'll say that. Looks like it, anyhow. You don'tsuppose they planned this all along? Even if they didn't, they sure gotthe jump on us again, didn't they? I told you what he told me? You told me, Capt. Wilkins said. <doc-sep>After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, To hell with the Russianengineer. If you've got all that power.... That's the thing. That's the thing that gripes me, know what I mean?It's just insane to send up a heavy wooden desk. That's showing off.Like a little kid. Maybe they don't make aluminum desks. They've—got—aluminum. Half of everything on the whole planet isaluminum. You know they're just showing off. Let me wire you up, Capt. Wilkins said. We ought to report. That's going to take awhile. It's something to do while we wait. I guess we ought to. Major Winship came down from the bunk andsat with his back toward the transmitter. Capt. Wilkins slewed theequipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. Heunearthed the appropriate cable and began unscrewing the exteriorplate to the small transmitter-receiver set on Major Winship's back.Eventually, trailing wires, Major Winship was coupled into the network.Okay? Okay, Major Winship gestured. They roused Earth. This is Major Charles Winship, Commanding Officer, Freedom 19, theAmerican moonbase. At this point, Major Winship observed for the first time that he wasnow on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change hisair bottle, but then he realized his communications were cut off. Hereached over and rapped Capt. Wilkins' helmet. This is the Cape. Come in, Major Winship. Just a moment. Is everything all right? Major Winship was squirming nervously, obviously perturbed. A-Okay, he said. Just a moment. What's wrong? came the worried question. In the background, he heardsomeone say, I think there's something wrong. Capt. Wilkins peered intently. Major Winship contorted his face in asavage grimace. Capt. Wilkins raised his eyebrows in alarm. They were face to facethrough their helmets, close together. Each face appeared monstrouslylarge to the other. Major Winship made a strangling motion and reached for his throat. Onearm tangled a cable and jerked the speaker jack loose. Major Winshipcould no longer hear the alarmed expressions from the Cape. The effortwas not entirely subvocal, since he emitted a little gasping cry ininvoluntary realism. This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth. Capt. Wilkins's lips were desperately forming the word Leak? Air, Major Winship said silently. Leak? Bottle! Bottle! Bottle! It was a frog-like, unvocal expletive. <doc-sep>Comprehension dawned. Capt. Wilkins nodded and started to turn away.Major Winship caught his arm and nodded his head toward the loose jack. Oh. Capt. Wilkins nodded and smiled. He reached across and plugged thespeaker in again. ... Freedom 19! Hello, Freedom 19! Come in! We're here, Major Winship said. All right? Are you all right? We're all right. A-Okay. Major Winship, mindful of the extent of hispotential audience, took a deep breath. Earlier this morning, theSoviet Union fired an underground atomic device for the ostensible purpose of investigating the composition of the lunar mass by means ofseismic analysis of the resultant shock waves. This was done in spiteof American warnings that such a disturbance might release accumulatedstresses in the long undisturbed satellite, and was done in the face ofvigorous American protests. Capt. Wilkins tapped his helmet and gestured for him to swivel around.The turn was uncomfortably tight and complicated by the restrainingcables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. These protests have proved well founded, Major Winship continued.Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on towithstand a moderately severe shifting of the Lunar surface. Nopersonnel were injured and there was no equipment damage. Capt. Wilkins tapped his shoulder to indicate the new air bottle wasbeing inserted. Another tap indicated it was seated. Major Winshipflicked the appropriate chest button and nodded in appreciation. However, he continued, we did experience a minor leak in the dome,which is presently being repaired. The Soviet Union, came the reply, has reported the disturbance andhas tendered their official apology. You want it? It can wait until later. Send it by mail for all I care. Vacuum hasdestroyed our organic air reconditioner. We have approximately threeweeks of emergency air. However, Base Gagarin reports no damage, sothat, in the event we exhaust our air, we will be able to obtain thenecessary replacement. The wait of a little better than three seconds for the response gavethe conversation a tone of deliberation. A new voice came on. We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We willbe able to deliver replacements in about ten days. I will forward a coded report on the occurrence, Major Winship said. Let us hear from you again in ... about three hours. Is the leakrepaired? The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out. He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back. Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from thetransmitter. Wow! said Major Winship when he was once more in communication. Fora moment there, I thought.... What? Capt. Wilkins asked with interest. I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenovto get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle.I never felt so ... idiotic is not quite strong enough ... there for aminute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left,and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in theworld listening, while I try to explain the situation. I could see thenickname being entered in my files: aka. The Airless Idiot. I tell you,that was rough. III Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. Itoccupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. Itwas a fifty-five gallon drum. The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. What is that ? asked MajorWinship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight. That, said Capt. Lawler, is the calking compound. You're kidding, said Capt. Wilkins. I am not kidding. Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk. Why didn't you just borrow a cupful? Major Winship said sarcastically. It's this way, Lt. Chandler said. They didn't have anything but55-gallon drums of it. Oh, my, said Capt. Wilkins. I suppose it's a steel drum. Thosethings must weigh.... Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong, Capt. Lawlersaid. He was out, himself, to greet us. I think he was really quiteupset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad. He's too damned suspicious, Major Winship said. You know and I knowwhy they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at melike an emasculated owl and wants to know our ulterior motive in tryingto prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will bepublished in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet! About this drum, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, like I said, it's this way, Lt. Chandler resumed. I told himwe needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mixup. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have tocombine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a littlescale— A little scale? asked Capt. Wilkins, rolling his eyes at the dome. That's what I told him. We don't have any little scale. Yeah, said Captain Lawler, and he looked at us with that mute,surprised look, like everybody, everywhere has dozens of littlescales. Well, anyway, Lt. Chandler continued, he told us just to mix up thewhole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff thatgoes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don'tneed. Somehow, that sounds like him, Major Winship said. He had five or six of them. Jesus! said Capt. Wilkins. That must be three thousand pounds ofcalking compound. Those people are insane. The question is, Capt. Lawler said, 'How are we going to mix it?'It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly. They thought over the problem for a while. That will be a man-sized job, Major Winship said. Let's see, Charlie. Maybe not too bad, said Capt. Wilkins. If I tookthe compressor motor, we could make up a shaft and ... let's see ... ifwe could.... <doc-sep>It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer. Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated. Now, Major Winship said, we can either bring the drum inside or takethe mixer out there. We're going to have to bring the drum in, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, said Capt. Lawler, that will make it nice and cozy. It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back andforth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table wasinterposing itself. Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. Damn these suits, he said. You've got it stuck between the bunk post. I know that. I don't think this is the way to do it, Major Winship said. Let'sback the drum out. Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid ofCapt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it overto Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkinscarried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. Itrested uneasily on the uneven surface. Now, let's go, said Major Winship. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum betweenthe main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring.It's not the weight, it's the mass, said Capt. Wilkins brightly. The hell it isn't the weight, said Lt. Chandler. That's heavy. With my reefer out, said Major Winship, I'm the one it's rough on.He shook perspiration out of his eyes. They should figure a way to geta mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you'veforgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes. It's the salt. Speaking of salt. I wish I had some salt tablets, Major Winship said.I've never sweat so much since basic. Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them? No! Major Winship snapped. <doc-sep>With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt.Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixingattachment. I feel crowded, he said. Cozy's the word. Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that! Sorry. At length the mixer was in operation in the drum. Works perfectly, said Capt. Wilkins proudly. Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English. You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the areathoroughly around the leak. With what? asked Major Winship. Sandpaper, I guess. With sandpaper? Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid intothe drum. We don't have any sandpaper. It's been a long day, Capt. Wilkins said. Mix it thoroughly, Lt. Chandler mused. I guess that means let it mixfor about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service injust a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe. I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air. No, Capt. Lawler said. It sets by some kind of chemical action.General Finogenov wasn't sure of the English name for it. Some kind ofplastic. Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak, MajorWinship said. Say, I— interrupted Capt. Wilkins. There was a trace of concernin his voice. This is a hell of a time for this to occur tome. I just wasn't thinking, before. You don't suppose it's aroom-temperature-curing epoxy resin, do you? Larry, said Major Winship, I wouldn't know a room-temperature-curingepoxy resin from— Hey! exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. The mixer's stopped. He bent forwardand touched the drum. He jerked back. Ye Gods! that's hot! And it'sharder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here. Huh? Out! Out! Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense ofurgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red. Let's go! Capt. Wilkins said. He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and becametemporarily engaged with each other. Movement was somewhat ungainlyin the space suits under the best of conditions, and now, with thenecessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into themfrom behind, and they spewed forth from the dome in a tangle of armsand legs. At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right.The table remained untouched. When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, Get to one side, it may go offlike shrapnel. They obeyed. What—what—what? Capt. Lawler stuttered. They were still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on theother. I'm going to try to look, Capt. Wilkins said. Let me go. Helumbered directly away from the dome for a distance of about fifteenfeet, then turned and positioned himself, some five feet behind thetable, on a line of sight with the airlock. I can see it, he said. It's getting redder. It's ... it's ...melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's fallingover to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is gettingred, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh. What? said Capt. Lawler. Watch out! There. There! Capt. Wilkins leaped from his position.He was still floating toward the ground when there was an incrediblybright flare from inside the dome, and a great, silent tongue of flamelashed through the airlock and rolled across the lunar surface. Thetable was sent tumbling. The flame was gone almost instantly. There went the air, Capt. Lawler commented. We got T-Trouble, said Lt. Chandler. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

On the surface of the moon, the American base (Freedom 19) is headed by Major Winship, with his three men, Captain Wilkins, Captain Lawler, and Lieutenant Chandler. The Soviets of Base Garagin are conducting a seismic test to learn more about the depths of the moon. The Americans protested it, as their base is not as strongly built, but the Russians went ahead anyway. With a language barrier and poor communication, the Americans don’t know when they are going to perform the test, so they stand outside in their suits waiting. After a few hours, a moonquake occurs, rippling through the surface. The quake caused a leak in their base, which Winship tries and fails to fix with a marker and a plastic sheet. He complains that the Russians did this on purpose, to try and force them off the moon, but they have three weeks of emergency air. They can try and fix it. They are unable to use the transmission since there is no air in the base. Winship orders his men to find the caulking solution, but it has hardened and dried out. He orders Lawler and Chandler to make the 60-minute-round-trip journey to Base Garagin to ask for help. Though Soviet General Finogenov denies it, Winship still wonders if this was intentional. Wilkins and Winship share a meal of gross nutrition tablets. Wilkins, the resident tech, hooks Winship up to the radio within his suit, so he can speak into the radio. With all the complicated wiring, Winship’s air supply is cut off, and he motions to Wilkins to fix it. Earth is on the line, but he tries to not make his problem known. After Wilkins fixes it, Winship informs them of their difficulties and is told that a replacement could arrive in 10 days and that the Russians formally apologized. Chandler and Lawler arrive with a 55-gallon barrel of caulking agent, along with another compound that must be mixed in. Displeased by the Russian’s excessiveness, the team figures out a way to successfully mix it. Wilkins creates an electric mixer, while the rest move the barrel inside the dome with great difficulty. They mix the barrel and quickly realize that it is a chemical epoxy, one that reacts to temperature. The heat of the mixer and the dome causes the epoxy to heat up drastically. The men escape to the airlock and watch as the barrel explodes, the fire it causes using up all their remaining oxygen.

Describe the relationship between the Soviets and the Americans. [SEP] <s> The Winning of the Moon BY KRIS NEVILLE The enemy was friendly enough. Trouble was—their friendship was as dangerous as their hate! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] General Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast wasscheduled for the following morning. Major Winship, after receiving the message, discussed precautions withthe three other Americans. Next morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donnedtheir space suits and went and sat outside the dome, waiting. The sunrose with its bright, silent clap of radiance. Black pools of shadowslay in harsh contrast, their edges drawn with geometric precision. Major Winship attempted unsuccessfully to communicate with BaseGagarin. Will you please request the general to keep us informed onthe progress of the countdown? Is Pinov, came the reply. Help? Nyet , said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. Count down.Progress. When—boom? Is Pinov, came the reply. Boom! Boom! said Major Winship in exasperation. Boom! said Pinov happily. When? Boom—boom! said Pinov. Oh, nuts. Major Winship cut out the circuit. They've got Pinov onemergency watch this morning, he explained to the other Americans.The one that doesn't speak English. He's done it deliberately, said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the fourAmericans. How are we going to know when it's over? No one bothered to respond. They sat for a while in silence while theshadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems. Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, This is a little ridiculous. I'm goingto switch over to their channel. Rap if you want me. He sat transfixedfor several minutes. Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can'ttell a thing that's going on. In the airless void of the moon, the blast itself would be silent. Amoth's wing of dust would, perhaps, rise and settle beyond the horizon:no more. Static? Nope. We'll get static on these things. A small infinity seemed to pass very slowly. Major Winship shifted restlessly. My reefer's gone on the fritz.Perspiration was trickling down his face. Let's all go in, said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. It'sprobably over by now. I'll try again, Major Winship said and switched to the emergencychannel. Base Gagarin? Base Gagarin? Is Pinov. Help? Nyet. Pinov's still there, Major Winship said. Tell him, 'Help', said Capt. Wilkins, so he'll get somebody we cantalk to. I'll see them all in hell, first, Major Winship said. Five minutes later, the perspiration was rivers across his face. Thisis it, he said. I'm going in. Let's all— No. I've got to cool off. Hell, Charlie, I feel stupid sitting out here, Capt. Lawler said.The shot probably went off an hour ago. The static level hasn't gone up much, if at all. Maybe, Lt. Chandler said, it's buried too deep. Maybe so, Major Winship said. But we can't have the dome fall downaround all our ears. He stood. Whew! You guys stay put. <doc-sep>He crossed with the floating moon-motion to the airlock and entered,closing the door behind him. The darkness slowly filled with air, andthe temperature inside the suit declined steadily. At the proper momentof pressure, the inner lock slid open and Major Winship stepped intothe illuminated central area. His foot was lifted for the second stepwhen the floor beneath him rose and fell gently, pitching him forward,off balance. He stumbled against the table and ended up seated besidethe radio equipment. The ground moved again. Charlie! Charlie! I'm okay, Major Winship answered. Okay! Okay! It's— There was additional surface movement. The movement ceased. Hey, Les, how's it look? Capt. Wilkins asked. Okay from this side. Charlie, you still okay? Okay, Major Winship said. We told them this might happen, he addedbitterly. There was a wait during which everyone seemed to be holding theirbreath. I guess it's over, said Major Winship, getting to his feet. Wait abit more, there may be an after-shock. He switched once again to theemergency channel. Is Pinov, came the supremely relaxed voice. Help? Major Winship whinnied in disgust. Nyet! he snarled. To the otherAmericans: Our comrades seem unconcerned. Tough. They began to get the static for the first time. It crackled andsnapped in their speakers. They made sounds of disapproval at eachother. For a minute or two, static blanked out the communicationscompletely. It then abated to something in excess of normal. Well, Lt. Chandler commented, even though we didn't build this thingto withstand a moonquake, it seems to have stood up all right. I guess I was just— Major Winship began. Oh, hell! We're losingpressure. Where's the markers? By the lug cabinet. Got 'em, Major Winship said a moment later. He peeled back a marker and let it fall. Air currents whisked it awayand plastered it against a riveted seam of the dome. It pulsed asthough it were breathing and then it ruptured. Major Winship moved quickly to cut out the emergency air supply whichhad cut in automatically with the pressure drop. You guys wait. It'son your right side, midway up. I'll try to sheet it. He moved for the plastic sheeting. We've lost about three feet of calk out here, Capt. Lawler said. Ican see more ripping loose. You're losing pressure fast at this rate. Major Winship pressed the sheeting over the leak. How's that? Not yet. I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It'ssprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads. There was a splatter of static. Damn! Major Winship said, they should have made these things moreflexible. Still coming out. Best I can do. Major Winship stepped back. The sheet began slowlyto slide downward, then it fell away completely and lay limply on thefloor. Come on in, he said dryly. <doc-sep>With the four of them inside, it was somewhat cramped. Most of thefive hundred square feet was filled with equipment. Electrical cablestrailed loosely along the walls and were festooned from the ceiling,radiating from the connections to the outside solar cells. The livingspace was more restricted than in a submarine, with the bunks juttingout from the walls about six feet from the floor. Lt. Chandler mounted one of the bunks to give them more room. Well,he said wryly, it doesn't smell as bad now. Oops, said Major Winship. Just a second. They're coming in. Heswitched over to the emergency channel. It was General Finogenov. Major Winship! Hello! Hello, hello, hello. You A Okay? This is Major Winship. Oh! Excellent, very good. Any damage, Major? Little leak. You? Came through without damage. General Finogenov paused a moment. Whenno comment was forthcoming, he continued: Perhaps we built a bit morestrongly, Major. You did this deliberately, Major Winship said testily. No, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Major Winship, please believe me. I verymuch regret this. Very much so. I am very distressed. Depressed. Afterrepeatedly assuring you there was no danger of a quake—and then tohave something like this happen. Oh, this is very embarrassing to me.Is there anything at all we can do? Just leave us alone, thank you, Major Winship said and cut off thecommunication. What'd they say? Capt. Wilkins asked. Larry, General Finogenov said he was very embarrassed by this. That's nice, Lt. Chandler said. I'll be damned surprised, Major Winship said, if they got anyseismic data out of that shot.... Well, to hell with them, let's getthis leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound? Larry, where's the inventory? Les has got it. Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted. Larry, Major Winship said, why don't you get Earth? Okay. Capt. Wilkins got down from the bunk and Capt. Lawler ascended. Got the inventory sheet, Les? Right here. Squeezed in front of the massive transmitter, Capt. Wilkins hadenergized the circuits. There was a puzzled look on his face. He leanedhis helmet against the speaker and then shook his head sadly. We can'thear anything without any air. Major Winship looked at the microphone. Well, I'll just report and—He started to pick up the microphone and reconsidered. Yes, he said.That's right, isn't it. Capt. Wilkins flicked off the transmitter. Some days you don't mine atall, he said. Les, have you found it? It's around here somewhere. Supposed to be back here. Well, find it. Lt. Chandler began moving boxes. I saw it— Skip, help look. Capt. Lawler got down from the bunk and Major Winship mounted. Wehaven't got all day. A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. Here itis! Dozen tubes. Squeeze tubes. It's the new stuff. Major Winship got down and Capt. Wilkins got up. Marker showed it over here, Major Winship said, inching over to thewall. He traced the leak with a metallic finger. How does this stuff work? Capt. Lawler asked. They huddled over the instruction sheet. Let's see. Squeeze the tube until the diaphragm at the nozzleruptures. Extrude paste into seam. Allow to harden one hour beforeservice. Major Winship said dryly, Never mind. I notice it hardens on contactwith air. Capt. Wilkins lay back on the bunk and stared upward. He said, Nowthat makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it? How do they possibly think—? Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference, Lt. Chandler said. Someair must already have leaked into this one. It's hard as a rock. Agorilla couldn't extrude it. How're the other ones? asked Major Winship. Lt. Chandler turned and made a quick examination. Oh, they're allhard, too. Who was supposed to check? demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. The only way you can check is to extrude it, Lt. Chandler said, andif it does extrude, you've ruined it. That's that, Major Winship said. There's nothing for it but to yellhelp. II Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler took the land car to Base Gagarin. TheSoviet base was situated some ten miles toward sunset at the bottom ofa natural fold in the surface. The route was moderately direct to thetip of the gently rolling ridge. At that point, the best pathway angledleft and made an S-shaped descent to the basin. It was a one-way tripof approximately thirty exhausting minutes. Major Winship, with his deficient reefer, remained behind. Capt.Wilkins stayed for company. I want a cigarette in the worst way, Capt. Wilkins said. So do I, Larry. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Unlesssomething else goes wrong. As long as they'll loan us the calking compound, Capt. Wilkins said. Yeah, yeah, Major Winship said. Let's eat. You got any concentrate? I'm empty. I'll load you, Capt. Wilkins volunteered wearily. It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkinscursed twice during the operation. I'd hate to live in this thing forany period. I think these suits are one thing we've got over the Russians, MajorWinship said. I don't see how they can manipulate those bulky piecesof junk around. They ate. Really horrible stuff. Nutritious. After the meal, Major Winship said reflectively, Now I'd like a cup ofhot tea. I'm cooled off. Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. What brought this on? I was just thinking.... They really got it made, Larry. They've gotbetter than three thousand square feet in the main dome and better thantwelve hundred square feet in each of the two little ones. And there'sonly seven of them right now. That's living. They've been here six years longer, after all. Finogenov had a clay samovar sent up. Lemon and nutmeg, too. Real,by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His ownoffice is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. Anda wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everythingbig and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less— They've got the power-plants for it. Do you think he did that deliberately? Major Winship asked. I thinkhe's trying to force us off. I think he hoped for the quake. Gagarin'sbuilt to take it, I'll say that. Looks like it, anyhow. You don'tsuppose they planned this all along? Even if they didn't, they sure gotthe jump on us again, didn't they? I told you what he told me? You told me, Capt. Wilkins said. <doc-sep>After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, To hell with the Russianengineer. If you've got all that power.... That's the thing. That's the thing that gripes me, know what I mean?It's just insane to send up a heavy wooden desk. That's showing off.Like a little kid. Maybe they don't make aluminum desks. They've—got—aluminum. Half of everything on the whole planet isaluminum. You know they're just showing off. Let me wire you up, Capt. Wilkins said. We ought to report. That's going to take awhile. It's something to do while we wait. I guess we ought to. Major Winship came down from the bunk andsat with his back toward the transmitter. Capt. Wilkins slewed theequipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. Heunearthed the appropriate cable and began unscrewing the exteriorplate to the small transmitter-receiver set on Major Winship's back.Eventually, trailing wires, Major Winship was coupled into the network.Okay? Okay, Major Winship gestured. They roused Earth. This is Major Charles Winship, Commanding Officer, Freedom 19, theAmerican moonbase. At this point, Major Winship observed for the first time that he wasnow on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change hisair bottle, but then he realized his communications were cut off. Hereached over and rapped Capt. Wilkins' helmet. This is the Cape. Come in, Major Winship. Just a moment. Is everything all right? Major Winship was squirming nervously, obviously perturbed. A-Okay, he said. Just a moment. What's wrong? came the worried question. In the background, he heardsomeone say, I think there's something wrong. Capt. Wilkins peered intently. Major Winship contorted his face in asavage grimace. Capt. Wilkins raised his eyebrows in alarm. They were face to facethrough their helmets, close together. Each face appeared monstrouslylarge to the other. Major Winship made a strangling motion and reached for his throat. Onearm tangled a cable and jerked the speaker jack loose. Major Winshipcould no longer hear the alarmed expressions from the Cape. The effortwas not entirely subvocal, since he emitted a little gasping cry ininvoluntary realism. This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth. Capt. Wilkins's lips were desperately forming the word Leak? Air, Major Winship said silently. Leak? Bottle! Bottle! Bottle! It was a frog-like, unvocal expletive. <doc-sep>Comprehension dawned. Capt. Wilkins nodded and started to turn away.Major Winship caught his arm and nodded his head toward the loose jack. Oh. Capt. Wilkins nodded and smiled. He reached across and plugged thespeaker in again. ... Freedom 19! Hello, Freedom 19! Come in! We're here, Major Winship said. All right? Are you all right? We're all right. A-Okay. Major Winship, mindful of the extent of hispotential audience, took a deep breath. Earlier this morning, theSoviet Union fired an underground atomic device for the ostensible purpose of investigating the composition of the lunar mass by means ofseismic analysis of the resultant shock waves. This was done in spiteof American warnings that such a disturbance might release accumulatedstresses in the long undisturbed satellite, and was done in the face ofvigorous American protests. Capt. Wilkins tapped his helmet and gestured for him to swivel around.The turn was uncomfortably tight and complicated by the restrainingcables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. These protests have proved well founded, Major Winship continued.Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on towithstand a moderately severe shifting of the Lunar surface. Nopersonnel were injured and there was no equipment damage. Capt. Wilkins tapped his shoulder to indicate the new air bottle wasbeing inserted. Another tap indicated it was seated. Major Winshipflicked the appropriate chest button and nodded in appreciation. However, he continued, we did experience a minor leak in the dome,which is presently being repaired. The Soviet Union, came the reply, has reported the disturbance andhas tendered their official apology. You want it? It can wait until later. Send it by mail for all I care. Vacuum hasdestroyed our organic air reconditioner. We have approximately threeweeks of emergency air. However, Base Gagarin reports no damage, sothat, in the event we exhaust our air, we will be able to obtain thenecessary replacement. The wait of a little better than three seconds for the response gavethe conversation a tone of deliberation. A new voice came on. We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We willbe able to deliver replacements in about ten days. I will forward a coded report on the occurrence, Major Winship said. Let us hear from you again in ... about three hours. Is the leakrepaired? The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out. He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back. Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from thetransmitter. Wow! said Major Winship when he was once more in communication. Fora moment there, I thought.... What? Capt. Wilkins asked with interest. I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenovto get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle.I never felt so ... idiotic is not quite strong enough ... there for aminute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left,and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in theworld listening, while I try to explain the situation. I could see thenickname being entered in my files: aka. The Airless Idiot. I tell you,that was rough. III Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. Itoccupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. Itwas a fifty-five gallon drum. The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. What is that ? asked MajorWinship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight. That, said Capt. Lawler, is the calking compound. You're kidding, said Capt. Wilkins. I am not kidding. Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk. Why didn't you just borrow a cupful? Major Winship said sarcastically. It's this way, Lt. Chandler said. They didn't have anything but55-gallon drums of it. Oh, my, said Capt. Wilkins. I suppose it's a steel drum. Thosethings must weigh.... Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong, Capt. Lawlersaid. He was out, himself, to greet us. I think he was really quiteupset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad. He's too damned suspicious, Major Winship said. You know and I knowwhy they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at melike an emasculated owl and wants to know our ulterior motive in tryingto prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will bepublished in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet! About this drum, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, like I said, it's this way, Lt. Chandler resumed. I told himwe needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mixup. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have tocombine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a littlescale— A little scale? asked Capt. Wilkins, rolling his eyes at the dome. That's what I told him. We don't have any little scale. Yeah, said Captain Lawler, and he looked at us with that mute,surprised look, like everybody, everywhere has dozens of littlescales. Well, anyway, Lt. Chandler continued, he told us just to mix up thewhole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff thatgoes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don'tneed. Somehow, that sounds like him, Major Winship said. He had five or six of them. Jesus! said Capt. Wilkins. That must be three thousand pounds ofcalking compound. Those people are insane. The question is, Capt. Lawler said, 'How are we going to mix it?'It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly. They thought over the problem for a while. That will be a man-sized job, Major Winship said. Let's see, Charlie. Maybe not too bad, said Capt. Wilkins. If I tookthe compressor motor, we could make up a shaft and ... let's see ... ifwe could.... <doc-sep>It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer. Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated. Now, Major Winship said, we can either bring the drum inside or takethe mixer out there. We're going to have to bring the drum in, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, said Capt. Lawler, that will make it nice and cozy. It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back andforth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table wasinterposing itself. Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. Damn these suits, he said. You've got it stuck between the bunk post. I know that. I don't think this is the way to do it, Major Winship said. Let'sback the drum out. Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid ofCapt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it overto Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkinscarried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. Itrested uneasily on the uneven surface. Now, let's go, said Major Winship. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum betweenthe main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring.It's not the weight, it's the mass, said Capt. Wilkins brightly. The hell it isn't the weight, said Lt. Chandler. That's heavy. With my reefer out, said Major Winship, I'm the one it's rough on.He shook perspiration out of his eyes. They should figure a way to geta mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you'veforgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes. It's the salt. Speaking of salt. I wish I had some salt tablets, Major Winship said.I've never sweat so much since basic. Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them? No! Major Winship snapped. <doc-sep>With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt.Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixingattachment. I feel crowded, he said. Cozy's the word. Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that! Sorry. At length the mixer was in operation in the drum. Works perfectly, said Capt. Wilkins proudly. Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English. You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the areathoroughly around the leak. With what? asked Major Winship. Sandpaper, I guess. With sandpaper? Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid intothe drum. We don't have any sandpaper. It's been a long day, Capt. Wilkins said. Mix it thoroughly, Lt. Chandler mused. I guess that means let it mixfor about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service injust a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe. I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air. No, Capt. Lawler said. It sets by some kind of chemical action.General Finogenov wasn't sure of the English name for it. Some kind ofplastic. Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak, MajorWinship said. Say, I— interrupted Capt. Wilkins. There was a trace of concernin his voice. This is a hell of a time for this to occur tome. I just wasn't thinking, before. You don't suppose it's aroom-temperature-curing epoxy resin, do you? Larry, said Major Winship, I wouldn't know a room-temperature-curingepoxy resin from— Hey! exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. The mixer's stopped. He bent forwardand touched the drum. He jerked back. Ye Gods! that's hot! And it'sharder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here. Huh? Out! Out! Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense ofurgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red. Let's go! Capt. Wilkins said. He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and becametemporarily engaged with each other. Movement was somewhat ungainlyin the space suits under the best of conditions, and now, with thenecessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into themfrom behind, and they spewed forth from the dome in a tangle of armsand legs. At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right.The table remained untouched. When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, Get to one side, it may go offlike shrapnel. They obeyed. What—what—what? Capt. Lawler stuttered. They were still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on theother. I'm going to try to look, Capt. Wilkins said. Let me go. Helumbered directly away from the dome for a distance of about fifteenfeet, then turned and positioned himself, some five feet behind thetable, on a line of sight with the airlock. I can see it, he said. It's getting redder. It's ... it's ...melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's fallingover to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is gettingred, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh. What? said Capt. Lawler. Watch out! There. There! Capt. Wilkins leaped from his position.He was still floating toward the ground when there was an incrediblybright flare from inside the dome, and a great, silent tongue of flamelashed through the airlock and rolled across the lunar surface. Thetable was sent tumbling. The flame was gone almost instantly. There went the air, Capt. Lawler commented. We got T-Trouble, said Lt. Chandler. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the relationship between the Soviets and the Americans.

As can be seen from the beginning, Base Gagarin and the small group of Americans have a slightly contentious relationship. Even the title of the story, The Winning of the Moon, emphasizes the undercurrent of war and competition that informs the way they interact with each other. The story begins with potentially purposeful miscommunication between the Russians and the Americans. The Soviet base is running an underground seismic wave test, the likes of which could release after-shocks and tremors. Such a quake could damage the American dome, meager in comparison with Base Gagarin. The Soviets put Pinov on the line, who only speaks Russian. Without the ability to communicate, the Americans were stuck outside on the moon for hours, waiting to see if the seismic eruption could be seen or felt. Feeling like idiots, one goes inside, just as an aftershock causes a leak in their dome. They instantly blame the Russians, especially since the Americans protested such a test. This series of unfortunate events continues as the Americans quickly realize that their supplies are not able to fix the leak. They must ask the Russians for help, even after complaining to their home base about their actions. Base Gagarin is huge compared to the American dome. General Finogenov even has a wooden desk in his office, along with other earthly amenities that the Americans have been deprived of. The Russians have been on the moon for six years longer than the Americans, which could explain their extensive supplies. They give the Americans a 55-gallon mixture to fix the leak, however, the language barrier prevents them from realizing what kind of epoxy it is. This miscommunication leads to the barrel exploding and further destroying the American dome. It’s fair to say that it’s not smooth sailing on the moon.

Describe the setting of the story. [SEP] <s> The Winning of the Moon BY KRIS NEVILLE The enemy was friendly enough. Trouble was—their friendship was as dangerous as their hate! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] General Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast wasscheduled for the following morning. Major Winship, after receiving the message, discussed precautions withthe three other Americans. Next morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donnedtheir space suits and went and sat outside the dome, waiting. The sunrose with its bright, silent clap of radiance. Black pools of shadowslay in harsh contrast, their edges drawn with geometric precision. Major Winship attempted unsuccessfully to communicate with BaseGagarin. Will you please request the general to keep us informed onthe progress of the countdown? Is Pinov, came the reply. Help? Nyet , said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. Count down.Progress. When—boom? Is Pinov, came the reply. Boom! Boom! said Major Winship in exasperation. Boom! said Pinov happily. When? Boom—boom! said Pinov. Oh, nuts. Major Winship cut out the circuit. They've got Pinov onemergency watch this morning, he explained to the other Americans.The one that doesn't speak English. He's done it deliberately, said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the fourAmericans. How are we going to know when it's over? No one bothered to respond. They sat for a while in silence while theshadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems. Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, This is a little ridiculous. I'm goingto switch over to their channel. Rap if you want me. He sat transfixedfor several minutes. Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can'ttell a thing that's going on. In the airless void of the moon, the blast itself would be silent. Amoth's wing of dust would, perhaps, rise and settle beyond the horizon:no more. Static? Nope. We'll get static on these things. A small infinity seemed to pass very slowly. Major Winship shifted restlessly. My reefer's gone on the fritz.Perspiration was trickling down his face. Let's all go in, said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. It'sprobably over by now. I'll try again, Major Winship said and switched to the emergencychannel. Base Gagarin? Base Gagarin? Is Pinov. Help? Nyet. Pinov's still there, Major Winship said. Tell him, 'Help', said Capt. Wilkins, so he'll get somebody we cantalk to. I'll see them all in hell, first, Major Winship said. Five minutes later, the perspiration was rivers across his face. Thisis it, he said. I'm going in. Let's all— No. I've got to cool off. Hell, Charlie, I feel stupid sitting out here, Capt. Lawler said.The shot probably went off an hour ago. The static level hasn't gone up much, if at all. Maybe, Lt. Chandler said, it's buried too deep. Maybe so, Major Winship said. But we can't have the dome fall downaround all our ears. He stood. Whew! You guys stay put. <doc-sep>He crossed with the floating moon-motion to the airlock and entered,closing the door behind him. The darkness slowly filled with air, andthe temperature inside the suit declined steadily. At the proper momentof pressure, the inner lock slid open and Major Winship stepped intothe illuminated central area. His foot was lifted for the second stepwhen the floor beneath him rose and fell gently, pitching him forward,off balance. He stumbled against the table and ended up seated besidethe radio equipment. The ground moved again. Charlie! Charlie! I'm okay, Major Winship answered. Okay! Okay! It's— There was additional surface movement. The movement ceased. Hey, Les, how's it look? Capt. Wilkins asked. Okay from this side. Charlie, you still okay? Okay, Major Winship said. We told them this might happen, he addedbitterly. There was a wait during which everyone seemed to be holding theirbreath. I guess it's over, said Major Winship, getting to his feet. Wait abit more, there may be an after-shock. He switched once again to theemergency channel. Is Pinov, came the supremely relaxed voice. Help? Major Winship whinnied in disgust. Nyet! he snarled. To the otherAmericans: Our comrades seem unconcerned. Tough. They began to get the static for the first time. It crackled andsnapped in their speakers. They made sounds of disapproval at eachother. For a minute or two, static blanked out the communicationscompletely. It then abated to something in excess of normal. Well, Lt. Chandler commented, even though we didn't build this thingto withstand a moonquake, it seems to have stood up all right. I guess I was just— Major Winship began. Oh, hell! We're losingpressure. Where's the markers? By the lug cabinet. Got 'em, Major Winship said a moment later. He peeled back a marker and let it fall. Air currents whisked it awayand plastered it against a riveted seam of the dome. It pulsed asthough it were breathing and then it ruptured. Major Winship moved quickly to cut out the emergency air supply whichhad cut in automatically with the pressure drop. You guys wait. It'son your right side, midway up. I'll try to sheet it. He moved for the plastic sheeting. We've lost about three feet of calk out here, Capt. Lawler said. Ican see more ripping loose. You're losing pressure fast at this rate. Major Winship pressed the sheeting over the leak. How's that? Not yet. I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It'ssprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads. There was a splatter of static. Damn! Major Winship said, they should have made these things moreflexible. Still coming out. Best I can do. Major Winship stepped back. The sheet began slowlyto slide downward, then it fell away completely and lay limply on thefloor. Come on in, he said dryly. <doc-sep>With the four of them inside, it was somewhat cramped. Most of thefive hundred square feet was filled with equipment. Electrical cablestrailed loosely along the walls and were festooned from the ceiling,radiating from the connections to the outside solar cells. The livingspace was more restricted than in a submarine, with the bunks juttingout from the walls about six feet from the floor. Lt. Chandler mounted one of the bunks to give them more room. Well,he said wryly, it doesn't smell as bad now. Oops, said Major Winship. Just a second. They're coming in. Heswitched over to the emergency channel. It was General Finogenov. Major Winship! Hello! Hello, hello, hello. You A Okay? This is Major Winship. Oh! Excellent, very good. Any damage, Major? Little leak. You? Came through without damage. General Finogenov paused a moment. Whenno comment was forthcoming, he continued: Perhaps we built a bit morestrongly, Major. You did this deliberately, Major Winship said testily. No, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Major Winship, please believe me. I verymuch regret this. Very much so. I am very distressed. Depressed. Afterrepeatedly assuring you there was no danger of a quake—and then tohave something like this happen. Oh, this is very embarrassing to me.Is there anything at all we can do? Just leave us alone, thank you, Major Winship said and cut off thecommunication. What'd they say? Capt. Wilkins asked. Larry, General Finogenov said he was very embarrassed by this. That's nice, Lt. Chandler said. I'll be damned surprised, Major Winship said, if they got anyseismic data out of that shot.... Well, to hell with them, let's getthis leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound? Larry, where's the inventory? Les has got it. Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted. Larry, Major Winship said, why don't you get Earth? Okay. Capt. Wilkins got down from the bunk and Capt. Lawler ascended. Got the inventory sheet, Les? Right here. Squeezed in front of the massive transmitter, Capt. Wilkins hadenergized the circuits. There was a puzzled look on his face. He leanedhis helmet against the speaker and then shook his head sadly. We can'thear anything without any air. Major Winship looked at the microphone. Well, I'll just report and—He started to pick up the microphone and reconsidered. Yes, he said.That's right, isn't it. Capt. Wilkins flicked off the transmitter. Some days you don't mine atall, he said. Les, have you found it? It's around here somewhere. Supposed to be back here. Well, find it. Lt. Chandler began moving boxes. I saw it— Skip, help look. Capt. Lawler got down from the bunk and Major Winship mounted. Wehaven't got all day. A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. Here itis! Dozen tubes. Squeeze tubes. It's the new stuff. Major Winship got down and Capt. Wilkins got up. Marker showed it over here, Major Winship said, inching over to thewall. He traced the leak with a metallic finger. How does this stuff work? Capt. Lawler asked. They huddled over the instruction sheet. Let's see. Squeeze the tube until the diaphragm at the nozzleruptures. Extrude paste into seam. Allow to harden one hour beforeservice. Major Winship said dryly, Never mind. I notice it hardens on contactwith air. Capt. Wilkins lay back on the bunk and stared upward. He said, Nowthat makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it? How do they possibly think—? Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference, Lt. Chandler said. Someair must already have leaked into this one. It's hard as a rock. Agorilla couldn't extrude it. How're the other ones? asked Major Winship. Lt. Chandler turned and made a quick examination. Oh, they're allhard, too. Who was supposed to check? demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. The only way you can check is to extrude it, Lt. Chandler said, andif it does extrude, you've ruined it. That's that, Major Winship said. There's nothing for it but to yellhelp. II Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler took the land car to Base Gagarin. TheSoviet base was situated some ten miles toward sunset at the bottom ofa natural fold in the surface. The route was moderately direct to thetip of the gently rolling ridge. At that point, the best pathway angledleft and made an S-shaped descent to the basin. It was a one-way tripof approximately thirty exhausting minutes. Major Winship, with his deficient reefer, remained behind. Capt.Wilkins stayed for company. I want a cigarette in the worst way, Capt. Wilkins said. So do I, Larry. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Unlesssomething else goes wrong. As long as they'll loan us the calking compound, Capt. Wilkins said. Yeah, yeah, Major Winship said. Let's eat. You got any concentrate? I'm empty. I'll load you, Capt. Wilkins volunteered wearily. It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkinscursed twice during the operation. I'd hate to live in this thing forany period. I think these suits are one thing we've got over the Russians, MajorWinship said. I don't see how they can manipulate those bulky piecesof junk around. They ate. Really horrible stuff. Nutritious. After the meal, Major Winship said reflectively, Now I'd like a cup ofhot tea. I'm cooled off. Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. What brought this on? I was just thinking.... They really got it made, Larry. They've gotbetter than three thousand square feet in the main dome and better thantwelve hundred square feet in each of the two little ones. And there'sonly seven of them right now. That's living. They've been here six years longer, after all. Finogenov had a clay samovar sent up. Lemon and nutmeg, too. Real,by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His ownoffice is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. Anda wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everythingbig and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less— They've got the power-plants for it. Do you think he did that deliberately? Major Winship asked. I thinkhe's trying to force us off. I think he hoped for the quake. Gagarin'sbuilt to take it, I'll say that. Looks like it, anyhow. You don'tsuppose they planned this all along? Even if they didn't, they sure gotthe jump on us again, didn't they? I told you what he told me? You told me, Capt. Wilkins said. <doc-sep>After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, To hell with the Russianengineer. If you've got all that power.... That's the thing. That's the thing that gripes me, know what I mean?It's just insane to send up a heavy wooden desk. That's showing off.Like a little kid. Maybe they don't make aluminum desks. They've—got—aluminum. Half of everything on the whole planet isaluminum. You know they're just showing off. Let me wire you up, Capt. Wilkins said. We ought to report. That's going to take awhile. It's something to do while we wait. I guess we ought to. Major Winship came down from the bunk andsat with his back toward the transmitter. Capt. Wilkins slewed theequipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. Heunearthed the appropriate cable and began unscrewing the exteriorplate to the small transmitter-receiver set on Major Winship's back.Eventually, trailing wires, Major Winship was coupled into the network.Okay? Okay, Major Winship gestured. They roused Earth. This is Major Charles Winship, Commanding Officer, Freedom 19, theAmerican moonbase. At this point, Major Winship observed for the first time that he wasnow on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change hisair bottle, but then he realized his communications were cut off. Hereached over and rapped Capt. Wilkins' helmet. This is the Cape. Come in, Major Winship. Just a moment. Is everything all right? Major Winship was squirming nervously, obviously perturbed. A-Okay, he said. Just a moment. What's wrong? came the worried question. In the background, he heardsomeone say, I think there's something wrong. Capt. Wilkins peered intently. Major Winship contorted his face in asavage grimace. Capt. Wilkins raised his eyebrows in alarm. They were face to facethrough their helmets, close together. Each face appeared monstrouslylarge to the other. Major Winship made a strangling motion and reached for his throat. Onearm tangled a cable and jerked the speaker jack loose. Major Winshipcould no longer hear the alarmed expressions from the Cape. The effortwas not entirely subvocal, since he emitted a little gasping cry ininvoluntary realism. This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth. Capt. Wilkins's lips were desperately forming the word Leak? Air, Major Winship said silently. Leak? Bottle! Bottle! Bottle! It was a frog-like, unvocal expletive. <doc-sep>Comprehension dawned. Capt. Wilkins nodded and started to turn away.Major Winship caught his arm and nodded his head toward the loose jack. Oh. Capt. Wilkins nodded and smiled. He reached across and plugged thespeaker in again. ... Freedom 19! Hello, Freedom 19! Come in! We're here, Major Winship said. All right? Are you all right? We're all right. A-Okay. Major Winship, mindful of the extent of hispotential audience, took a deep breath. Earlier this morning, theSoviet Union fired an underground atomic device for the ostensible purpose of investigating the composition of the lunar mass by means ofseismic analysis of the resultant shock waves. This was done in spiteof American warnings that such a disturbance might release accumulatedstresses in the long undisturbed satellite, and was done in the face ofvigorous American protests. Capt. Wilkins tapped his helmet and gestured for him to swivel around.The turn was uncomfortably tight and complicated by the restrainingcables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. These protests have proved well founded, Major Winship continued.Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on towithstand a moderately severe shifting of the Lunar surface. Nopersonnel were injured and there was no equipment damage. Capt. Wilkins tapped his shoulder to indicate the new air bottle wasbeing inserted. Another tap indicated it was seated. Major Winshipflicked the appropriate chest button and nodded in appreciation. However, he continued, we did experience a minor leak in the dome,which is presently being repaired. The Soviet Union, came the reply, has reported the disturbance andhas tendered their official apology. You want it? It can wait until later. Send it by mail for all I care. Vacuum hasdestroyed our organic air reconditioner. We have approximately threeweeks of emergency air. However, Base Gagarin reports no damage, sothat, in the event we exhaust our air, we will be able to obtain thenecessary replacement. The wait of a little better than three seconds for the response gavethe conversation a tone of deliberation. A new voice came on. We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We willbe able to deliver replacements in about ten days. I will forward a coded report on the occurrence, Major Winship said. Let us hear from you again in ... about three hours. Is the leakrepaired? The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out. He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back. Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from thetransmitter. Wow! said Major Winship when he was once more in communication. Fora moment there, I thought.... What? Capt. Wilkins asked with interest. I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenovto get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle.I never felt so ... idiotic is not quite strong enough ... there for aminute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left,and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in theworld listening, while I try to explain the situation. I could see thenickname being entered in my files: aka. The Airless Idiot. I tell you,that was rough. III Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. Itoccupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. Itwas a fifty-five gallon drum. The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. What is that ? asked MajorWinship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight. That, said Capt. Lawler, is the calking compound. You're kidding, said Capt. Wilkins. I am not kidding. Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk. Why didn't you just borrow a cupful? Major Winship said sarcastically. It's this way, Lt. Chandler said. They didn't have anything but55-gallon drums of it. Oh, my, said Capt. Wilkins. I suppose it's a steel drum. Thosethings must weigh.... Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong, Capt. Lawlersaid. He was out, himself, to greet us. I think he was really quiteupset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad. He's too damned suspicious, Major Winship said. You know and I knowwhy they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at melike an emasculated owl and wants to know our ulterior motive in tryingto prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will bepublished in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet! About this drum, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, like I said, it's this way, Lt. Chandler resumed. I told himwe needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mixup. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have tocombine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a littlescale— A little scale? asked Capt. Wilkins, rolling his eyes at the dome. That's what I told him. We don't have any little scale. Yeah, said Captain Lawler, and he looked at us with that mute,surprised look, like everybody, everywhere has dozens of littlescales. Well, anyway, Lt. Chandler continued, he told us just to mix up thewhole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff thatgoes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don'tneed. Somehow, that sounds like him, Major Winship said. He had five or six of them. Jesus! said Capt. Wilkins. That must be three thousand pounds ofcalking compound. Those people are insane. The question is, Capt. Lawler said, 'How are we going to mix it?'It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly. They thought over the problem for a while. That will be a man-sized job, Major Winship said. Let's see, Charlie. Maybe not too bad, said Capt. Wilkins. If I tookthe compressor motor, we could make up a shaft and ... let's see ... ifwe could.... <doc-sep>It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer. Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated. Now, Major Winship said, we can either bring the drum inside or takethe mixer out there. We're going to have to bring the drum in, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, said Capt. Lawler, that will make it nice and cozy. It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back andforth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table wasinterposing itself. Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. Damn these suits, he said. You've got it stuck between the bunk post. I know that. I don't think this is the way to do it, Major Winship said. Let'sback the drum out. Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid ofCapt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it overto Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkinscarried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. Itrested uneasily on the uneven surface. Now, let's go, said Major Winship. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum betweenthe main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring.It's not the weight, it's the mass, said Capt. Wilkins brightly. The hell it isn't the weight, said Lt. Chandler. That's heavy. With my reefer out, said Major Winship, I'm the one it's rough on.He shook perspiration out of his eyes. They should figure a way to geta mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you'veforgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes. It's the salt. Speaking of salt. I wish I had some salt tablets, Major Winship said.I've never sweat so much since basic. Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them? No! Major Winship snapped. <doc-sep>With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt.Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixingattachment. I feel crowded, he said. Cozy's the word. Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that! Sorry. At length the mixer was in operation in the drum. Works perfectly, said Capt. Wilkins proudly. Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English. You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the areathoroughly around the leak. With what? asked Major Winship. Sandpaper, I guess. With sandpaper? Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid intothe drum. We don't have any sandpaper. It's been a long day, Capt. Wilkins said. Mix it thoroughly, Lt. Chandler mused. I guess that means let it mixfor about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service injust a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe. I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air. No, Capt. Lawler said. It sets by some kind of chemical action.General Finogenov wasn't sure of the English name for it. Some kind ofplastic. Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak, MajorWinship said. Say, I— interrupted Capt. Wilkins. There was a trace of concernin his voice. This is a hell of a time for this to occur tome. I just wasn't thinking, before. You don't suppose it's aroom-temperature-curing epoxy resin, do you? Larry, said Major Winship, I wouldn't know a room-temperature-curingepoxy resin from— Hey! exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. The mixer's stopped. He bent forwardand touched the drum. He jerked back. Ye Gods! that's hot! And it'sharder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here. Huh? Out! Out! Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense ofurgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red. Let's go! Capt. Wilkins said. He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and becametemporarily engaged with each other. Movement was somewhat ungainlyin the space suits under the best of conditions, and now, with thenecessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into themfrom behind, and they spewed forth from the dome in a tangle of armsand legs. At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right.The table remained untouched. When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, Get to one side, it may go offlike shrapnel. They obeyed. What—what—what? Capt. Lawler stuttered. They were still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on theother. I'm going to try to look, Capt. Wilkins said. Let me go. Helumbered directly away from the dome for a distance of about fifteenfeet, then turned and positioned himself, some five feet behind thetable, on a line of sight with the airlock. I can see it, he said. It's getting redder. It's ... it's ...melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's fallingover to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is gettingred, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh. What? said Capt. Lawler. Watch out! There. There! Capt. Wilkins leaped from his position.He was still floating toward the ground when there was an incrediblybright flare from inside the dome, and a great, silent tongue of flamelashed through the airlock and rolled across the lunar surface. Thetable was sent tumbling. The flame was gone almost instantly. There went the air, Capt. Lawler commented. We got T-Trouble, said Lt. Chandler. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story.

The Winning of the Moon by Kris Neville takes place on the moon, although exactly what moon is never specified. The moon itself has a fairly uneven surface, especially after the moonquake rips through its bases. Most of the story takes place inside of the American base, a mere 500 square feet. It is cramped inside, filled to the brim with equipment, tools, and supplies necessary for the moon. The American men slept on bunks that rose up from the floor. Cables hung from the ceiling and snaked across the walls, bringing energy into the dome using solar power. The base itself is in the shape of a dome with an airlock leading to the outside. The Russian base, Base Gagarin, is incredibly different. They’ve got three buildings that make up the base, the biggest of which is 3,000 square feet. With luxuries like wooden furniture, fresh lemons from Earth, and nutmeg, the Soviet base has everything the Americans lacked.

What is the significance of the seismic test the Russians conduct? [SEP] <s> The Winning of the Moon BY KRIS NEVILLE The enemy was friendly enough. Trouble was—their friendship was as dangerous as their hate! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] General Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast wasscheduled for the following morning. Major Winship, after receiving the message, discussed precautions withthe three other Americans. Next morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donnedtheir space suits and went and sat outside the dome, waiting. The sunrose with its bright, silent clap of radiance. Black pools of shadowslay in harsh contrast, their edges drawn with geometric precision. Major Winship attempted unsuccessfully to communicate with BaseGagarin. Will you please request the general to keep us informed onthe progress of the countdown? Is Pinov, came the reply. Help? Nyet , said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. Count down.Progress. When—boom? Is Pinov, came the reply. Boom! Boom! said Major Winship in exasperation. Boom! said Pinov happily. When? Boom—boom! said Pinov. Oh, nuts. Major Winship cut out the circuit. They've got Pinov onemergency watch this morning, he explained to the other Americans.The one that doesn't speak English. He's done it deliberately, said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the fourAmericans. How are we going to know when it's over? No one bothered to respond. They sat for a while in silence while theshadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems. Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, This is a little ridiculous. I'm goingto switch over to their channel. Rap if you want me. He sat transfixedfor several minutes. Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can'ttell a thing that's going on. In the airless void of the moon, the blast itself would be silent. Amoth's wing of dust would, perhaps, rise and settle beyond the horizon:no more. Static? Nope. We'll get static on these things. A small infinity seemed to pass very slowly. Major Winship shifted restlessly. My reefer's gone on the fritz.Perspiration was trickling down his face. Let's all go in, said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. It'sprobably over by now. I'll try again, Major Winship said and switched to the emergencychannel. Base Gagarin? Base Gagarin? Is Pinov. Help? Nyet. Pinov's still there, Major Winship said. Tell him, 'Help', said Capt. Wilkins, so he'll get somebody we cantalk to. I'll see them all in hell, first, Major Winship said. Five minutes later, the perspiration was rivers across his face. Thisis it, he said. I'm going in. Let's all— No. I've got to cool off. Hell, Charlie, I feel stupid sitting out here, Capt. Lawler said.The shot probably went off an hour ago. The static level hasn't gone up much, if at all. Maybe, Lt. Chandler said, it's buried too deep. Maybe so, Major Winship said. But we can't have the dome fall downaround all our ears. He stood. Whew! You guys stay put. <doc-sep>He crossed with the floating moon-motion to the airlock and entered,closing the door behind him. The darkness slowly filled with air, andthe temperature inside the suit declined steadily. At the proper momentof pressure, the inner lock slid open and Major Winship stepped intothe illuminated central area. His foot was lifted for the second stepwhen the floor beneath him rose and fell gently, pitching him forward,off balance. He stumbled against the table and ended up seated besidethe radio equipment. The ground moved again. Charlie! Charlie! I'm okay, Major Winship answered. Okay! Okay! It's— There was additional surface movement. The movement ceased. Hey, Les, how's it look? Capt. Wilkins asked. Okay from this side. Charlie, you still okay? Okay, Major Winship said. We told them this might happen, he addedbitterly. There was a wait during which everyone seemed to be holding theirbreath. I guess it's over, said Major Winship, getting to his feet. Wait abit more, there may be an after-shock. He switched once again to theemergency channel. Is Pinov, came the supremely relaxed voice. Help? Major Winship whinnied in disgust. Nyet! he snarled. To the otherAmericans: Our comrades seem unconcerned. Tough. They began to get the static for the first time. It crackled andsnapped in their speakers. They made sounds of disapproval at eachother. For a minute or two, static blanked out the communicationscompletely. It then abated to something in excess of normal. Well, Lt. Chandler commented, even though we didn't build this thingto withstand a moonquake, it seems to have stood up all right. I guess I was just— Major Winship began. Oh, hell! We're losingpressure. Where's the markers? By the lug cabinet. Got 'em, Major Winship said a moment later. He peeled back a marker and let it fall. Air currents whisked it awayand plastered it against a riveted seam of the dome. It pulsed asthough it were breathing and then it ruptured. Major Winship moved quickly to cut out the emergency air supply whichhad cut in automatically with the pressure drop. You guys wait. It'son your right side, midway up. I'll try to sheet it. He moved for the plastic sheeting. We've lost about three feet of calk out here, Capt. Lawler said. Ican see more ripping loose. You're losing pressure fast at this rate. Major Winship pressed the sheeting over the leak. How's that? Not yet. I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It'ssprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads. There was a splatter of static. Damn! Major Winship said, they should have made these things moreflexible. Still coming out. Best I can do. Major Winship stepped back. The sheet began slowlyto slide downward, then it fell away completely and lay limply on thefloor. Come on in, he said dryly. <doc-sep>With the four of them inside, it was somewhat cramped. Most of thefive hundred square feet was filled with equipment. Electrical cablestrailed loosely along the walls and were festooned from the ceiling,radiating from the connections to the outside solar cells. The livingspace was more restricted than in a submarine, with the bunks juttingout from the walls about six feet from the floor. Lt. Chandler mounted one of the bunks to give them more room. Well,he said wryly, it doesn't smell as bad now. Oops, said Major Winship. Just a second. They're coming in. Heswitched over to the emergency channel. It was General Finogenov. Major Winship! Hello! Hello, hello, hello. You A Okay? This is Major Winship. Oh! Excellent, very good. Any damage, Major? Little leak. You? Came through without damage. General Finogenov paused a moment. Whenno comment was forthcoming, he continued: Perhaps we built a bit morestrongly, Major. You did this deliberately, Major Winship said testily. No, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Major Winship, please believe me. I verymuch regret this. Very much so. I am very distressed. Depressed. Afterrepeatedly assuring you there was no danger of a quake—and then tohave something like this happen. Oh, this is very embarrassing to me.Is there anything at all we can do? Just leave us alone, thank you, Major Winship said and cut off thecommunication. What'd they say? Capt. Wilkins asked. Larry, General Finogenov said he was very embarrassed by this. That's nice, Lt. Chandler said. I'll be damned surprised, Major Winship said, if they got anyseismic data out of that shot.... Well, to hell with them, let's getthis leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound? Larry, where's the inventory? Les has got it. Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted. Larry, Major Winship said, why don't you get Earth? Okay. Capt. Wilkins got down from the bunk and Capt. Lawler ascended. Got the inventory sheet, Les? Right here. Squeezed in front of the massive transmitter, Capt. Wilkins hadenergized the circuits. There was a puzzled look on his face. He leanedhis helmet against the speaker and then shook his head sadly. We can'thear anything without any air. Major Winship looked at the microphone. Well, I'll just report and—He started to pick up the microphone and reconsidered. Yes, he said.That's right, isn't it. Capt. Wilkins flicked off the transmitter. Some days you don't mine atall, he said. Les, have you found it? It's around here somewhere. Supposed to be back here. Well, find it. Lt. Chandler began moving boxes. I saw it— Skip, help look. Capt. Lawler got down from the bunk and Major Winship mounted. Wehaven't got all day. A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. Here itis! Dozen tubes. Squeeze tubes. It's the new stuff. Major Winship got down and Capt. Wilkins got up. Marker showed it over here, Major Winship said, inching over to thewall. He traced the leak with a metallic finger. How does this stuff work? Capt. Lawler asked. They huddled over the instruction sheet. Let's see. Squeeze the tube until the diaphragm at the nozzleruptures. Extrude paste into seam. Allow to harden one hour beforeservice. Major Winship said dryly, Never mind. I notice it hardens on contactwith air. Capt. Wilkins lay back on the bunk and stared upward. He said, Nowthat makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it? How do they possibly think—? Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference, Lt. Chandler said. Someair must already have leaked into this one. It's hard as a rock. Agorilla couldn't extrude it. How're the other ones? asked Major Winship. Lt. Chandler turned and made a quick examination. Oh, they're allhard, too. Who was supposed to check? demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. The only way you can check is to extrude it, Lt. Chandler said, andif it does extrude, you've ruined it. That's that, Major Winship said. There's nothing for it but to yellhelp. II Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler took the land car to Base Gagarin. TheSoviet base was situated some ten miles toward sunset at the bottom ofa natural fold in the surface. The route was moderately direct to thetip of the gently rolling ridge. At that point, the best pathway angledleft and made an S-shaped descent to the basin. It was a one-way tripof approximately thirty exhausting minutes. Major Winship, with his deficient reefer, remained behind. Capt.Wilkins stayed for company. I want a cigarette in the worst way, Capt. Wilkins said. So do I, Larry. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Unlesssomething else goes wrong. As long as they'll loan us the calking compound, Capt. Wilkins said. Yeah, yeah, Major Winship said. Let's eat. You got any concentrate? I'm empty. I'll load you, Capt. Wilkins volunteered wearily. It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkinscursed twice during the operation. I'd hate to live in this thing forany period. I think these suits are one thing we've got over the Russians, MajorWinship said. I don't see how they can manipulate those bulky piecesof junk around. They ate. Really horrible stuff. Nutritious. After the meal, Major Winship said reflectively, Now I'd like a cup ofhot tea. I'm cooled off. Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. What brought this on? I was just thinking.... They really got it made, Larry. They've gotbetter than three thousand square feet in the main dome and better thantwelve hundred square feet in each of the two little ones. And there'sonly seven of them right now. That's living. They've been here six years longer, after all. Finogenov had a clay samovar sent up. Lemon and nutmeg, too. Real,by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His ownoffice is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. Anda wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everythingbig and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less— They've got the power-plants for it. Do you think he did that deliberately? Major Winship asked. I thinkhe's trying to force us off. I think he hoped for the quake. Gagarin'sbuilt to take it, I'll say that. Looks like it, anyhow. You don'tsuppose they planned this all along? Even if they didn't, they sure gotthe jump on us again, didn't they? I told you what he told me? You told me, Capt. Wilkins said. <doc-sep>After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, To hell with the Russianengineer. If you've got all that power.... That's the thing. That's the thing that gripes me, know what I mean?It's just insane to send up a heavy wooden desk. That's showing off.Like a little kid. Maybe they don't make aluminum desks. They've—got—aluminum. Half of everything on the whole planet isaluminum. You know they're just showing off. Let me wire you up, Capt. Wilkins said. We ought to report. That's going to take awhile. It's something to do while we wait. I guess we ought to. Major Winship came down from the bunk andsat with his back toward the transmitter. Capt. Wilkins slewed theequipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. Heunearthed the appropriate cable and began unscrewing the exteriorplate to the small transmitter-receiver set on Major Winship's back.Eventually, trailing wires, Major Winship was coupled into the network.Okay? Okay, Major Winship gestured. They roused Earth. This is Major Charles Winship, Commanding Officer, Freedom 19, theAmerican moonbase. At this point, Major Winship observed for the first time that he wasnow on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change hisair bottle, but then he realized his communications were cut off. Hereached over and rapped Capt. Wilkins' helmet. This is the Cape. Come in, Major Winship. Just a moment. Is everything all right? Major Winship was squirming nervously, obviously perturbed. A-Okay, he said. Just a moment. What's wrong? came the worried question. In the background, he heardsomeone say, I think there's something wrong. Capt. Wilkins peered intently. Major Winship contorted his face in asavage grimace. Capt. Wilkins raised his eyebrows in alarm. They were face to facethrough their helmets, close together. Each face appeared monstrouslylarge to the other. Major Winship made a strangling motion and reached for his throat. Onearm tangled a cable and jerked the speaker jack loose. Major Winshipcould no longer hear the alarmed expressions from the Cape. The effortwas not entirely subvocal, since he emitted a little gasping cry ininvoluntary realism. This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth. Capt. Wilkins's lips were desperately forming the word Leak? Air, Major Winship said silently. Leak? Bottle! Bottle! Bottle! It was a frog-like, unvocal expletive. <doc-sep>Comprehension dawned. Capt. Wilkins nodded and started to turn away.Major Winship caught his arm and nodded his head toward the loose jack. Oh. Capt. Wilkins nodded and smiled. He reached across and plugged thespeaker in again. ... Freedom 19! Hello, Freedom 19! Come in! We're here, Major Winship said. All right? Are you all right? We're all right. A-Okay. Major Winship, mindful of the extent of hispotential audience, took a deep breath. Earlier this morning, theSoviet Union fired an underground atomic device for the ostensible purpose of investigating the composition of the lunar mass by means ofseismic analysis of the resultant shock waves. This was done in spiteof American warnings that such a disturbance might release accumulatedstresses in the long undisturbed satellite, and was done in the face ofvigorous American protests. Capt. Wilkins tapped his helmet and gestured for him to swivel around.The turn was uncomfortably tight and complicated by the restrainingcables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. These protests have proved well founded, Major Winship continued.Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on towithstand a moderately severe shifting of the Lunar surface. Nopersonnel were injured and there was no equipment damage. Capt. Wilkins tapped his shoulder to indicate the new air bottle wasbeing inserted. Another tap indicated it was seated. Major Winshipflicked the appropriate chest button and nodded in appreciation. However, he continued, we did experience a minor leak in the dome,which is presently being repaired. The Soviet Union, came the reply, has reported the disturbance andhas tendered their official apology. You want it? It can wait until later. Send it by mail for all I care. Vacuum hasdestroyed our organic air reconditioner. We have approximately threeweeks of emergency air. However, Base Gagarin reports no damage, sothat, in the event we exhaust our air, we will be able to obtain thenecessary replacement. The wait of a little better than three seconds for the response gavethe conversation a tone of deliberation. A new voice came on. We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We willbe able to deliver replacements in about ten days. I will forward a coded report on the occurrence, Major Winship said. Let us hear from you again in ... about three hours. Is the leakrepaired? The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out. He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back. Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from thetransmitter. Wow! said Major Winship when he was once more in communication. Fora moment there, I thought.... What? Capt. Wilkins asked with interest. I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenovto get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle.I never felt so ... idiotic is not quite strong enough ... there for aminute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left,and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in theworld listening, while I try to explain the situation. I could see thenickname being entered in my files: aka. The Airless Idiot. I tell you,that was rough. III Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. Itoccupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. Itwas a fifty-five gallon drum. The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. What is that ? asked MajorWinship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight. That, said Capt. Lawler, is the calking compound. You're kidding, said Capt. Wilkins. I am not kidding. Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk. Why didn't you just borrow a cupful? Major Winship said sarcastically. It's this way, Lt. Chandler said. They didn't have anything but55-gallon drums of it. Oh, my, said Capt. Wilkins. I suppose it's a steel drum. Thosethings must weigh.... Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong, Capt. Lawlersaid. He was out, himself, to greet us. I think he was really quiteupset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad. He's too damned suspicious, Major Winship said. You know and I knowwhy they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at melike an emasculated owl and wants to know our ulterior motive in tryingto prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will bepublished in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet! About this drum, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, like I said, it's this way, Lt. Chandler resumed. I told himwe needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mixup. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have tocombine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a littlescale— A little scale? asked Capt. Wilkins, rolling his eyes at the dome. That's what I told him. We don't have any little scale. Yeah, said Captain Lawler, and he looked at us with that mute,surprised look, like everybody, everywhere has dozens of littlescales. Well, anyway, Lt. Chandler continued, he told us just to mix up thewhole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff thatgoes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don'tneed. Somehow, that sounds like him, Major Winship said. He had five or six of them. Jesus! said Capt. Wilkins. That must be three thousand pounds ofcalking compound. Those people are insane. The question is, Capt. Lawler said, 'How are we going to mix it?'It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly. They thought over the problem for a while. That will be a man-sized job, Major Winship said. Let's see, Charlie. Maybe not too bad, said Capt. Wilkins. If I tookthe compressor motor, we could make up a shaft and ... let's see ... ifwe could.... <doc-sep>It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer. Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated. Now, Major Winship said, we can either bring the drum inside or takethe mixer out there. We're going to have to bring the drum in, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, said Capt. Lawler, that will make it nice and cozy. It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back andforth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table wasinterposing itself. Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. Damn these suits, he said. You've got it stuck between the bunk post. I know that. I don't think this is the way to do it, Major Winship said. Let'sback the drum out. Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid ofCapt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it overto Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkinscarried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. Itrested uneasily on the uneven surface. Now, let's go, said Major Winship. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum betweenthe main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring.It's not the weight, it's the mass, said Capt. Wilkins brightly. The hell it isn't the weight, said Lt. Chandler. That's heavy. With my reefer out, said Major Winship, I'm the one it's rough on.He shook perspiration out of his eyes. They should figure a way to geta mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you'veforgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes. It's the salt. Speaking of salt. I wish I had some salt tablets, Major Winship said.I've never sweat so much since basic. Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them? No! Major Winship snapped. <doc-sep>With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt.Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixingattachment. I feel crowded, he said. Cozy's the word. Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that! Sorry. At length the mixer was in operation in the drum. Works perfectly, said Capt. Wilkins proudly. Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English. You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the areathoroughly around the leak. With what? asked Major Winship. Sandpaper, I guess. With sandpaper? Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid intothe drum. We don't have any sandpaper. It's been a long day, Capt. Wilkins said. Mix it thoroughly, Lt. Chandler mused. I guess that means let it mixfor about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service injust a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe. I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air. No, Capt. Lawler said. It sets by some kind of chemical action.General Finogenov wasn't sure of the English name for it. Some kind ofplastic. Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak, MajorWinship said. Say, I— interrupted Capt. Wilkins. There was a trace of concernin his voice. This is a hell of a time for this to occur tome. I just wasn't thinking, before. You don't suppose it's aroom-temperature-curing epoxy resin, do you? Larry, said Major Winship, I wouldn't know a room-temperature-curingepoxy resin from— Hey! exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. The mixer's stopped. He bent forwardand touched the drum. He jerked back. Ye Gods! that's hot! And it'sharder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here. Huh? Out! Out! Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense ofurgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red. Let's go! Capt. Wilkins said. He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and becametemporarily engaged with each other. Movement was somewhat ungainlyin the space suits under the best of conditions, and now, with thenecessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into themfrom behind, and they spewed forth from the dome in a tangle of armsand legs. At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right.The table remained untouched. When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, Get to one side, it may go offlike shrapnel. They obeyed. What—what—what? Capt. Lawler stuttered. They were still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on theother. I'm going to try to look, Capt. Wilkins said. Let me go. Helumbered directly away from the dome for a distance of about fifteenfeet, then turned and positioned himself, some five feet behind thetable, on a line of sight with the airlock. I can see it, he said. It's getting redder. It's ... it's ...melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's fallingover to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is gettingred, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh. What? said Capt. Lawler. Watch out! There. There! Capt. Wilkins leaped from his position.He was still floating toward the ground when there was an incrediblybright flare from inside the dome, and a great, silent tongue of flamelashed through the airlock and rolled across the lunar surface. Thetable was sent tumbling. The flame was gone almost instantly. There went the air, Capt. Lawler commented. We got T-Trouble, said Lt. Chandler. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of the seismic test the Russians conduct?

After the Russians conduct their seismic test, a moonquake erupts and tears a leak in the American dome. This leak is significant because it is the first of a series of slightly cataclysmic events. As well, it highlights the strained and tense relationship between the Russians and the Americans. Major Winship accused the Russians of deliberately injuring their base, further showing how contentious their relationship is. General Finogenov ardently denies this, however, and says that their base had no damage at all. After trying and failing to fix the leak with their own supplies, two of the Americans are forced to travel to Base Gagarin and borrow their resin. This ends up backfiring, however, as the epoxy quickly heats up and explodes as they mix the two components together. The explosion further damages the dome and takes away the American’s entire air supply. As well, the seismic testing was greatly discouraged and protested by the Americans.

Who is Major Winship, and what happens to him throughout the story? [SEP] <s> The Winning of the Moon BY KRIS NEVILLE The enemy was friendly enough. Trouble was—their friendship was as dangerous as their hate! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] General Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast wasscheduled for the following morning. Major Winship, after receiving the message, discussed precautions withthe three other Americans. Next morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donnedtheir space suits and went and sat outside the dome, waiting. The sunrose with its bright, silent clap of radiance. Black pools of shadowslay in harsh contrast, their edges drawn with geometric precision. Major Winship attempted unsuccessfully to communicate with BaseGagarin. Will you please request the general to keep us informed onthe progress of the countdown? Is Pinov, came the reply. Help? Nyet , said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. Count down.Progress. When—boom? Is Pinov, came the reply. Boom! Boom! said Major Winship in exasperation. Boom! said Pinov happily. When? Boom—boom! said Pinov. Oh, nuts. Major Winship cut out the circuit. They've got Pinov onemergency watch this morning, he explained to the other Americans.The one that doesn't speak English. He's done it deliberately, said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the fourAmericans. How are we going to know when it's over? No one bothered to respond. They sat for a while in silence while theshadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems. Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, This is a little ridiculous. I'm goingto switch over to their channel. Rap if you want me. He sat transfixedfor several minutes. Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can'ttell a thing that's going on. In the airless void of the moon, the blast itself would be silent. Amoth's wing of dust would, perhaps, rise and settle beyond the horizon:no more. Static? Nope. We'll get static on these things. A small infinity seemed to pass very slowly. Major Winship shifted restlessly. My reefer's gone on the fritz.Perspiration was trickling down his face. Let's all go in, said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. It'sprobably over by now. I'll try again, Major Winship said and switched to the emergencychannel. Base Gagarin? Base Gagarin? Is Pinov. Help? Nyet. Pinov's still there, Major Winship said. Tell him, 'Help', said Capt. Wilkins, so he'll get somebody we cantalk to. I'll see them all in hell, first, Major Winship said. Five minutes later, the perspiration was rivers across his face. Thisis it, he said. I'm going in. Let's all— No. I've got to cool off. Hell, Charlie, I feel stupid sitting out here, Capt. Lawler said.The shot probably went off an hour ago. The static level hasn't gone up much, if at all. Maybe, Lt. Chandler said, it's buried too deep. Maybe so, Major Winship said. But we can't have the dome fall downaround all our ears. He stood. Whew! You guys stay put. <doc-sep>He crossed with the floating moon-motion to the airlock and entered,closing the door behind him. The darkness slowly filled with air, andthe temperature inside the suit declined steadily. At the proper momentof pressure, the inner lock slid open and Major Winship stepped intothe illuminated central area. His foot was lifted for the second stepwhen the floor beneath him rose and fell gently, pitching him forward,off balance. He stumbled against the table and ended up seated besidethe radio equipment. The ground moved again. Charlie! Charlie! I'm okay, Major Winship answered. Okay! Okay! It's— There was additional surface movement. The movement ceased. Hey, Les, how's it look? Capt. Wilkins asked. Okay from this side. Charlie, you still okay? Okay, Major Winship said. We told them this might happen, he addedbitterly. There was a wait during which everyone seemed to be holding theirbreath. I guess it's over, said Major Winship, getting to his feet. Wait abit more, there may be an after-shock. He switched once again to theemergency channel. Is Pinov, came the supremely relaxed voice. Help? Major Winship whinnied in disgust. Nyet! he snarled. To the otherAmericans: Our comrades seem unconcerned. Tough. They began to get the static for the first time. It crackled andsnapped in their speakers. They made sounds of disapproval at eachother. For a minute or two, static blanked out the communicationscompletely. It then abated to something in excess of normal. Well, Lt. Chandler commented, even though we didn't build this thingto withstand a moonquake, it seems to have stood up all right. I guess I was just— Major Winship began. Oh, hell! We're losingpressure. Where's the markers? By the lug cabinet. Got 'em, Major Winship said a moment later. He peeled back a marker and let it fall. Air currents whisked it awayand plastered it against a riveted seam of the dome. It pulsed asthough it were breathing and then it ruptured. Major Winship moved quickly to cut out the emergency air supply whichhad cut in automatically with the pressure drop. You guys wait. It'son your right side, midway up. I'll try to sheet it. He moved for the plastic sheeting. We've lost about three feet of calk out here, Capt. Lawler said. Ican see more ripping loose. You're losing pressure fast at this rate. Major Winship pressed the sheeting over the leak. How's that? Not yet. I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It'ssprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads. There was a splatter of static. Damn! Major Winship said, they should have made these things moreflexible. Still coming out. Best I can do. Major Winship stepped back. The sheet began slowlyto slide downward, then it fell away completely and lay limply on thefloor. Come on in, he said dryly. <doc-sep>With the four of them inside, it was somewhat cramped. Most of thefive hundred square feet was filled with equipment. Electrical cablestrailed loosely along the walls and were festooned from the ceiling,radiating from the connections to the outside solar cells. The livingspace was more restricted than in a submarine, with the bunks juttingout from the walls about six feet from the floor. Lt. Chandler mounted one of the bunks to give them more room. Well,he said wryly, it doesn't smell as bad now. Oops, said Major Winship. Just a second. They're coming in. Heswitched over to the emergency channel. It was General Finogenov. Major Winship! Hello! Hello, hello, hello. You A Okay? This is Major Winship. Oh! Excellent, very good. Any damage, Major? Little leak. You? Came through without damage. General Finogenov paused a moment. Whenno comment was forthcoming, he continued: Perhaps we built a bit morestrongly, Major. You did this deliberately, Major Winship said testily. No, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Major Winship, please believe me. I verymuch regret this. Very much so. I am very distressed. Depressed. Afterrepeatedly assuring you there was no danger of a quake—and then tohave something like this happen. Oh, this is very embarrassing to me.Is there anything at all we can do? Just leave us alone, thank you, Major Winship said and cut off thecommunication. What'd they say? Capt. Wilkins asked. Larry, General Finogenov said he was very embarrassed by this. That's nice, Lt. Chandler said. I'll be damned surprised, Major Winship said, if they got anyseismic data out of that shot.... Well, to hell with them, let's getthis leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound? Larry, where's the inventory? Les has got it. Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted. Larry, Major Winship said, why don't you get Earth? Okay. Capt. Wilkins got down from the bunk and Capt. Lawler ascended. Got the inventory sheet, Les? Right here. Squeezed in front of the massive transmitter, Capt. Wilkins hadenergized the circuits. There was a puzzled look on his face. He leanedhis helmet against the speaker and then shook his head sadly. We can'thear anything without any air. Major Winship looked at the microphone. Well, I'll just report and—He started to pick up the microphone and reconsidered. Yes, he said.That's right, isn't it. Capt. Wilkins flicked off the transmitter. Some days you don't mine atall, he said. Les, have you found it? It's around here somewhere. Supposed to be back here. Well, find it. Lt. Chandler began moving boxes. I saw it— Skip, help look. Capt. Lawler got down from the bunk and Major Winship mounted. Wehaven't got all day. A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. Here itis! Dozen tubes. Squeeze tubes. It's the new stuff. Major Winship got down and Capt. Wilkins got up. Marker showed it over here, Major Winship said, inching over to thewall. He traced the leak with a metallic finger. How does this stuff work? Capt. Lawler asked. They huddled over the instruction sheet. Let's see. Squeeze the tube until the diaphragm at the nozzleruptures. Extrude paste into seam. Allow to harden one hour beforeservice. Major Winship said dryly, Never mind. I notice it hardens on contactwith air. Capt. Wilkins lay back on the bunk and stared upward. He said, Nowthat makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it? How do they possibly think—? Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference, Lt. Chandler said. Someair must already have leaked into this one. It's hard as a rock. Agorilla couldn't extrude it. How're the other ones? asked Major Winship. Lt. Chandler turned and made a quick examination. Oh, they're allhard, too. Who was supposed to check? demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation. The only way you can check is to extrude it, Lt. Chandler said, andif it does extrude, you've ruined it. That's that, Major Winship said. There's nothing for it but to yellhelp. II Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler took the land car to Base Gagarin. TheSoviet base was situated some ten miles toward sunset at the bottom ofa natural fold in the surface. The route was moderately direct to thetip of the gently rolling ridge. At that point, the best pathway angledleft and made an S-shaped descent to the basin. It was a one-way tripof approximately thirty exhausting minutes. Major Winship, with his deficient reefer, remained behind. Capt.Wilkins stayed for company. I want a cigarette in the worst way, Capt. Wilkins said. So do I, Larry. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Unlesssomething else goes wrong. As long as they'll loan us the calking compound, Capt. Wilkins said. Yeah, yeah, Major Winship said. Let's eat. You got any concentrate? I'm empty. I'll load you, Capt. Wilkins volunteered wearily. It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkinscursed twice during the operation. I'd hate to live in this thing forany period. I think these suits are one thing we've got over the Russians, MajorWinship said. I don't see how they can manipulate those bulky piecesof junk around. They ate. Really horrible stuff. Nutritious. After the meal, Major Winship said reflectively, Now I'd like a cup ofhot tea. I'm cooled off. Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. What brought this on? I was just thinking.... They really got it made, Larry. They've gotbetter than three thousand square feet in the main dome and better thantwelve hundred square feet in each of the two little ones. And there'sonly seven of them right now. That's living. They've been here six years longer, after all. Finogenov had a clay samovar sent up. Lemon and nutmeg, too. Real,by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His ownoffice is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. Anda wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everythingbig and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less— They've got the power-plants for it. Do you think he did that deliberately? Major Winship asked. I thinkhe's trying to force us off. I think he hoped for the quake. Gagarin'sbuilt to take it, I'll say that. Looks like it, anyhow. You don'tsuppose they planned this all along? Even if they didn't, they sure gotthe jump on us again, didn't they? I told you what he told me? You told me, Capt. Wilkins said. <doc-sep>After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, To hell with the Russianengineer. If you've got all that power.... That's the thing. That's the thing that gripes me, know what I mean?It's just insane to send up a heavy wooden desk. That's showing off.Like a little kid. Maybe they don't make aluminum desks. They've—got—aluminum. Half of everything on the whole planet isaluminum. You know they're just showing off. Let me wire you up, Capt. Wilkins said. We ought to report. That's going to take awhile. It's something to do while we wait. I guess we ought to. Major Winship came down from the bunk andsat with his back toward the transmitter. Capt. Wilkins slewed theequipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. Heunearthed the appropriate cable and began unscrewing the exteriorplate to the small transmitter-receiver set on Major Winship's back.Eventually, trailing wires, Major Winship was coupled into the network.Okay? Okay, Major Winship gestured. They roused Earth. This is Major Charles Winship, Commanding Officer, Freedom 19, theAmerican moonbase. At this point, Major Winship observed for the first time that he wasnow on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change hisair bottle, but then he realized his communications were cut off. Hereached over and rapped Capt. Wilkins' helmet. This is the Cape. Come in, Major Winship. Just a moment. Is everything all right? Major Winship was squirming nervously, obviously perturbed. A-Okay, he said. Just a moment. What's wrong? came the worried question. In the background, he heardsomeone say, I think there's something wrong. Capt. Wilkins peered intently. Major Winship contorted his face in asavage grimace. Capt. Wilkins raised his eyebrows in alarm. They were face to facethrough their helmets, close together. Each face appeared monstrouslylarge to the other. Major Winship made a strangling motion and reached for his throat. Onearm tangled a cable and jerked the speaker jack loose. Major Winshipcould no longer hear the alarmed expressions from the Cape. The effortwas not entirely subvocal, since he emitted a little gasping cry ininvoluntary realism. This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth. Capt. Wilkins's lips were desperately forming the word Leak? Air, Major Winship said silently. Leak? Bottle! Bottle! Bottle! It was a frog-like, unvocal expletive. <doc-sep>Comprehension dawned. Capt. Wilkins nodded and started to turn away.Major Winship caught his arm and nodded his head toward the loose jack. Oh. Capt. Wilkins nodded and smiled. He reached across and plugged thespeaker in again. ... Freedom 19! Hello, Freedom 19! Come in! We're here, Major Winship said. All right? Are you all right? We're all right. A-Okay. Major Winship, mindful of the extent of hispotential audience, took a deep breath. Earlier this morning, theSoviet Union fired an underground atomic device for the ostensible purpose of investigating the composition of the lunar mass by means ofseismic analysis of the resultant shock waves. This was done in spiteof American warnings that such a disturbance might release accumulatedstresses in the long undisturbed satellite, and was done in the face ofvigorous American protests. Capt. Wilkins tapped his helmet and gestured for him to swivel around.The turn was uncomfortably tight and complicated by the restrainingcables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle. These protests have proved well founded, Major Winship continued.Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on towithstand a moderately severe shifting of the Lunar surface. Nopersonnel were injured and there was no equipment damage. Capt. Wilkins tapped his shoulder to indicate the new air bottle wasbeing inserted. Another tap indicated it was seated. Major Winshipflicked the appropriate chest button and nodded in appreciation. However, he continued, we did experience a minor leak in the dome,which is presently being repaired. The Soviet Union, came the reply, has reported the disturbance andhas tendered their official apology. You want it? It can wait until later. Send it by mail for all I care. Vacuum hasdestroyed our organic air reconditioner. We have approximately threeweeks of emergency air. However, Base Gagarin reports no damage, sothat, in the event we exhaust our air, we will be able to obtain thenecessary replacement. The wait of a little better than three seconds for the response gavethe conversation a tone of deliberation. A new voice came on. We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We willbe able to deliver replacements in about ten days. I will forward a coded report on the occurrence, Major Winship said. Let us hear from you again in ... about three hours. Is the leakrepaired? The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out. He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back. Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from thetransmitter. Wow! said Major Winship when he was once more in communication. Fora moment there, I thought.... What? Capt. Wilkins asked with interest. I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenovto get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle.I never felt so ... idiotic is not quite strong enough ... there for aminute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left,and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in theworld listening, while I try to explain the situation. I could see thenickname being entered in my files: aka. The Airless Idiot. I tell you,that was rough. III Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. Itoccupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. Itwas a fifty-five gallon drum. The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. What is that ? asked MajorWinship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight. That, said Capt. Lawler, is the calking compound. You're kidding, said Capt. Wilkins. I am not kidding. Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk. Why didn't you just borrow a cupful? Major Winship said sarcastically. It's this way, Lt. Chandler said. They didn't have anything but55-gallon drums of it. Oh, my, said Capt. Wilkins. I suppose it's a steel drum. Thosethings must weigh.... Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong, Capt. Lawlersaid. He was out, himself, to greet us. I think he was really quiteupset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad. He's too damned suspicious, Major Winship said. You know and I knowwhy they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at melike an emasculated owl and wants to know our ulterior motive in tryingto prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will bepublished in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet! About this drum, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, like I said, it's this way, Lt. Chandler resumed. I told himwe needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mixup. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have tocombine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a littlescale— A little scale? asked Capt. Wilkins, rolling his eyes at the dome. That's what I told him. We don't have any little scale. Yeah, said Captain Lawler, and he looked at us with that mute,surprised look, like everybody, everywhere has dozens of littlescales. Well, anyway, Lt. Chandler continued, he told us just to mix up thewhole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff thatgoes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don'tneed. Somehow, that sounds like him, Major Winship said. He had five or six of them. Jesus! said Capt. Wilkins. That must be three thousand pounds ofcalking compound. Those people are insane. The question is, Capt. Lawler said, 'How are we going to mix it?'It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly. They thought over the problem for a while. That will be a man-sized job, Major Winship said. Let's see, Charlie. Maybe not too bad, said Capt. Wilkins. If I tookthe compressor motor, we could make up a shaft and ... let's see ... ifwe could.... <doc-sep>It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer. Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated. Now, Major Winship said, we can either bring the drum inside or takethe mixer out there. We're going to have to bring the drum in, Capt. Wilkins said. Well, said Capt. Lawler, that will make it nice and cozy. It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back andforth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table wasinterposing itself. Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. Damn these suits, he said. You've got it stuck between the bunk post. I know that. I don't think this is the way to do it, Major Winship said. Let'sback the drum out. Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid ofCapt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it overto Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkinscarried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. Itrested uneasily on the uneven surface. Now, let's go, said Major Winship. Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum betweenthe main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring.It's not the weight, it's the mass, said Capt. Wilkins brightly. The hell it isn't the weight, said Lt. Chandler. That's heavy. With my reefer out, said Major Winship, I'm the one it's rough on.He shook perspiration out of his eyes. They should figure a way to geta mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you'veforgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes. It's the salt. Speaking of salt. I wish I had some salt tablets, Major Winship said.I've never sweat so much since basic. Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them? No! Major Winship snapped. <doc-sep>With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt.Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixingattachment. I feel crowded, he said. Cozy's the word. Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that! Sorry. At length the mixer was in operation in the drum. Works perfectly, said Capt. Wilkins proudly. Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English. You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the areathoroughly around the leak. With what? asked Major Winship. Sandpaper, I guess. With sandpaper? Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid intothe drum. We don't have any sandpaper. It's been a long day, Capt. Wilkins said. Mix it thoroughly, Lt. Chandler mused. I guess that means let it mixfor about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service injust a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe. I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air. No, Capt. Lawler said. It sets by some kind of chemical action.General Finogenov wasn't sure of the English name for it. Some kind ofplastic. Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak, MajorWinship said. Say, I— interrupted Capt. Wilkins. There was a trace of concernin his voice. This is a hell of a time for this to occur tome. I just wasn't thinking, before. You don't suppose it's aroom-temperature-curing epoxy resin, do you? Larry, said Major Winship, I wouldn't know a room-temperature-curingepoxy resin from— Hey! exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. The mixer's stopped. He bent forwardand touched the drum. He jerked back. Ye Gods! that's hot! And it'sharder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here. Huh? Out! Out! Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense ofurgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red. Let's go! Capt. Wilkins said. He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and becametemporarily engaged with each other. Movement was somewhat ungainlyin the space suits under the best of conditions, and now, with thenecessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into themfrom behind, and they spewed forth from the dome in a tangle of armsand legs. At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right.The table remained untouched. When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, Get to one side, it may go offlike shrapnel. They obeyed. What—what—what? Capt. Lawler stuttered. They were still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on theother. I'm going to try to look, Capt. Wilkins said. Let me go. Helumbered directly away from the dome for a distance of about fifteenfeet, then turned and positioned himself, some five feet behind thetable, on a line of sight with the airlock. I can see it, he said. It's getting redder. It's ... it's ...melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's fallingover to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is gettingred, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh. What? said Capt. Lawler. Watch out! There. There! Capt. Wilkins leaped from his position.He was still floating toward the ground when there was an incrediblybright flare from inside the dome, and a great, silent tongue of flamelashed through the airlock and rolled across the lunar surface. Thetable was sent tumbling. The flame was gone almost instantly. There went the air, Capt. Lawler commented. We got T-Trouble, said Lt. Chandler. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Major Winship, and what happens to him throughout the story?

Major Winship is one of the few Americans who is currently living on base on the surface of the moon. He is in charge as the Commanding Officer of Freedom 19, as he outranks both the Captains and the first Lieutenant. After watching the moonquake shake the surface from inside the base, Major Winship quickly realizes that the quake ripped a hole in the dome itself. He attempts to fix it with a marker, then with a plastic sheet, but both fail. Their caulking compound has hardened and is completely unusable. Winship accuses the Russians of causing the quake and leak on purpose, but the General vehemently denies his claims. They try to call into Earth but realize that without air, there’d be no sound. So, they have to find another way. Stuck in his suit until they can restore air to the base, Winship sends Lt. Chandler and Capt. Lawler to ask the Soviets for help. Winship shares a meal with Wilkins, and then the Captain connected to Winship with a series of wires to the radio. This way he’d be able to communicate while in his suit. He suffers a major mistake with the wiring, however, when his air supply is cut off. He motions to Wilkins who saves him, reconnecting the lost cable, and Winship lets those on Earth know what happened. They let him know that they’ve received a formal apology and that they will send a replacement in ten days’ time. Once Chandler and Lawler return, Winship is faced with a new problem: how to mix and activate the 55-gallon fix for the leak. Wilkins creates an electric mixer, and they bring the barrel inside to mix. The barrel becomes red-hot and looks to be on the verge of combustion. The men scramble and get to the airlock. The barrel explodes and the flames use up all the oxygen. Winship is faced with an even greater problem now: how to survive.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> DOWN TO THE WORLDS OF MEN BY ALEXEI PANSHIN The ancient rule was sink or swim—swim in the miasma of a planet without spaceflight, or sink to utter destruction! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The horses and packs were loaded before we went aboard the scoutship.The scout bay is no more than a great oversized airlock with a dozensmall ships squatting over their tubes, but it was the last of the Shipthat I might ever see, so I took a long final look from the top of theramp. There were sixteen of us girls and thirteen boys. We took our placesin the seats in the center of the scout. Riggy Allen made a joke thatnobody bothered to laugh at, and then we were all silent. I was feelinglost and just beginning to enjoy it when Jimmy Dentremont came over tome. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. Anintelligent runt like me. He said what I expected. Mia, do you want to go partners if we can gettogether when we get down? I guess he thought that because we were always matched on study I likedhim. Well, I did when I wasn't mad at him, but now I had that crackhe'd made about being a snob in mind, so I said, Not likely. I want tocome back alive. It wasn't fair, but it was a good crack and he wentback to his place without saying anything. My name is Mia Havero. I'm fourteen, of course, or I wouldn't betelling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect thatscrawniness to last much longer. Mother is very good looking. In themeantime, I've got brains as a consolation. After we were all settled, George Fuhonin, the pilot, raised the ramps.We sat there for five minutes while they bled air out of our tube andthen we just ... dropped. My stomach turned flips. We didn't have toleave that way, but George thinks it's fun to be a hot pilot. Thinking it over, I was almost sorry I'd been stinking to Jimmy D. He'sthe only competition I have my own age. The trouble is, you don't gopartners with the competition, do you? Besides, there was still thatcrack about being a snob. The planet chosen for our Trial was called Tintera. The last contactthe Ship had had with it—and we were the ones who dropped them—wasalmost 150 years ago. No contact since. That had made the Councildebate a little before they dropped us there, but they decided it wasall right in the end. It didn't make any practical difference to uskids because they never tell you anything about the place they're goingto drop you. All I knew was the name. I wouldn't have known that muchif Daddy weren't Chairman of the Council. I felt like crawling in a corner of the ship and crying, but nobodyelse was breaking down, so I didn't. I did feel miserable. I cried whenI said good-by to Mother and Daddy—a real emotional scene—but thatwasn't in public. <doc-sep>It wasn't the chance of not coming back that bothered me really,because I never believed that I wouldn't. The thought that made meunhappy was that I would have to be on a planet for a whole month.Planets make me feel wretched. The gravity is always wrong, for one thing. Either your arches andcalves ache or every time you step you think you're going to trip ona piece of fluff and break your neck. There are vegetables everywhereand little grubby things just looking for you to crawl on. If youcan think of anything creepier than that, you've got a real nastyimagination. Worst of all, planets stink. Every single one smells—I'vebeen on enough to know that. A planet is all right for a Mud-eater, butnot for me. We have a place in the Ship like that—the Third Level—but it's only athousand square miles and any time it gets on your nerves you can go upa level or down a level and be back in civilization. When we reached Tintera, they started dropping us. We swung over thesea from the morning side and then dropped low over gray-green forestedhills. Finally George spotted a clear area and dropped into it. Theydon't care what order you go in, so Jimmy D. jumped up, grabbed hisgear and then led his horse down the ramp. I think he was stillsmarting from the slap I'd given him. In a minute we were airborne again. I wondered if I would ever seeJimmy—if he would get back alive. It's no game we play. When we turn fourteen, they drop us on thenearest colonized planet and come back one month later. That may soundlike fun to you, but a lot of us never come back alive. Don't think I was helpless. I'm hell on wheels. They don't let us growfor fourteen years and then kick us out to die. They prepare us. Theydo figure, though, that if you can't keep yourself alive by the timeyou're fourteen, you're too stupid, foolish or unlucky to be any use tothe Ship. There's sense behind it. It means that everybody on the Shipis a person who can take care of himself if he has to. Daddy says thatsomething has to be done in a closed society to keep the populationfrom decaying mentally and physically, and this is it. And it helps tokeep the population steady. I began to check my gear out—sonic pistol, pickup signal so I could befound at the end of the month, saddle and cinches, food and clothes.Venie Morlock has got a crush on Jimmy D., and when she saw me startgetting ready to go, she began to check her gear, too. At our nextlanding, I grabbed Ninc's reins and cut Venie out smoothly. It didn'thave anything to do with Jimmy. I just couldn't stand to put off thebad moment any longer. The ship lifted impersonally away from Ninc and me like a rising bird,and in just a moment it was gone. Its gray-blue color was almost thecolor of the half-overcast sky, so I was never sure when I saw it last. II The first night was hell, I guess because I'm not used to having thelights out. That's when you really start to feel lonely, being alone inthe dark. When the sun disappears, somehow you wonder in your stomachif it's really going to come back. But I lived through it—one day inthirty gone. I rode in a spiral search pattern during the next two days. I had threethings in mind—stay alive, find people and find some of the others.The first was automatic. The second was to find out if there was a slotI could fit into for a month. If not, I would have to find a place tocamp out, as nasty as that would be. The third was to join forces,though not with that meatball Jimmy D. No, he isn't really a meatball. The trouble is that I don't takenothing from nobody, especially him, and he doesn't take nothing fromnobody, especially me. So we do a lot of fighting. I had a good month for Trial. My birthday is in November—too close toYear End Holiday for my taste, but this year it was all right. It wasspring on Tintera, but it was December in the Ship, and after we gotback we had five days of Holiday to celebrate. It gave me something tolook forward to. In two days of riding, I ran onto nothing but a few odd-lookinganimals. I shot one small one and ate it. It turned out to taste prettygood, though not as good as a slice from Hambone No. 4, to my mind thebest meat vat on the Ship. I've eaten things so gruey-looking that Iwondered that anybody had the guts to try them in the first place andthey've turned out to taste good. And I've seen things that looked goodthat I couldn't keep on my stomach. So I guess I was lucky. On the third day, I found the road. I brought Ninc down off thehillside, losing sight of the road in the trees, and then reachingit in the level below. It was narrow and made of sand spread over ahard base. Out of the marks in the sand, I could pick out the tracksof horses and both narrow and wide wheels. Other tracks I couldn'tidentify. One of the smartest moves in history was to include horses whenthey dropped the colonies. I say they because, while we did theactual dropping, the idea originated with the whole evac plan back onEarth. Considering how short a time it was in which the colonies wereestablished, there was not time to set up industry, so they had to havedraft animals. The first of the Great Ships was finished in 2025. One of the eight,as well as the two that were being built then, went up with everythingelse in the Solar System in 2041. In that sixteen years 112 colonieswere planted. I don't know how many of those planets had animals that could have been substituted but, even if they had, they would havehad to be domesticated from scratch. That would have been stupid. I'llbet that half the colonies would have failed if they hadn't had horses. <doc-sep>We'd come in from the west over the ocean, so I traveled east on theroad. That much water makes me nervous, and roads have to go somewhere. I came on my first travelers three hours later. I rounded a tree-linedbend, ducking an overhanging branch, and pulled Ninc to a stop. Therewere five men on horseback herding a bunch of the ugliest creaturesalive. They were green and grotesque. They had squat bodies, long limbs andknobby bulges at their joints. They had square, flat animal masks forfaces. But they walked on their hind legs and they had paws that werealmost hands, and that was enough to make them seem almost human. Theymade a wordless, chilling, lowing sound as they milled and ploddedalong. I started Ninc up again and moved slowly to catch up with them. All themen on horseback had guns in saddle boots. They looked as nervous ascats with kittens. One of them had a string of packhorses on a lineand he saw me and called to another who seemed to be the leader. Thatone wheeled his black horse and rode back toward me. He was a middle-aged man, maybe as old as my Daddy. He was large and hehad a hard face. Normal enough, but hard. He pulled to a halt when wereached each other, but I kept going. He had to come around and followme. I believe in judging a person by his face. A man can't help theface he owns, but he can help the expression he wears on it. If a manlooks mean, I generally believe that he is. This one looked mean. Thatwas why I kept riding. He said, What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head?There be escaped Losels in these woods. I told you I hadn't finished filling out yet, but I hadn't thought itwas that bad. I wasn't ready to make a fight over the point, though.Generally, I can't keep my bloody mouth shut, but now I didn't sayanything. It seemed smart. Where be you from? he asked. I pointed to the road behind us. And where be you going? I pointed ahead. No other way to go. He seemed exasperated. I have that effect sometimes. Even on Mother andDaddy, who should know better. We were coming up on the others now, and the man said, Maybe you'dbetter ride on from here with us. For protection. He had an odd way of twisting his sounds, almost as though he had amouthful of mush. I wondered whether he were just an oddball or whethereverybody here spoke the same way. I'd never heard InternationalEnglish spoken any way but one, even on the planet Daddy made me visitwith him. One of the other outriders came easing by then. I suppose they'd beenwatching us all the while. He called to the hard man. He be awfully small, Horst. I doubt me a Losel'd even notice him atall. We mought as well throw him back again. The rider looked at me. When I didn't dissolve in terror as heexpected, he shrugged and one of the other men laughed. The hard man said to the others, This boy will be riding along with usto Forton for protection. I looked down at the plodding, unhappy creatures they were drivingalong and one looked back at me with dull, expressionless golden eyes.I felt uncomfortable. I said, I don't think so. What the man did then surprised me. He said, I do think so, andreached for the rifle in his saddle boot. I whipped my sonic pistol out so fast that he was caught leaning overwith the rifle half out. His jaw dropped. He knew what I held and hedidn't want to be fried. I said, Ease your rifles out and drop them gently to the ground. They did, watching me all the while with wary expressions. When all the rifles were on the ground, I said, All right, let's go. They didn't want to move. They didn't want to leave the rifles. Icould see that. Horst didn't say anything. He just watched me withnarrowed eyes. But one of the others held up a hand and in wheedlingtones said, Look here, kid.... Shut up, I said, in as mean a voice as I could muster, and he did. Itsurprised me. I didn't think I sounded that mean. I decided he justdidn't trust the crazy kid not to shoot. After twenty minutes of easy riding for us and hard walking for thecreatures, I said, If you want your rifles, you can go back and getthem now. I dug my heels into Ninc's sides and rode on. At the nextbend I looked back and saw four of them holding their packhorses andthe creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. I put this episode in the file and hold for analysis section in mymind and rode on, feeling good. I think I even giggled once. SometimesI even convince myself that I'm hell on wheels. III When I was nine, my Daddy gave me a painted wooden doll that mygreat-grandmother brought from Earth. The thing is that inside it,nestled one in another, are eleven more dolls, each one smaller thanthe last. I like to watch people when they open it for the first time. My face must have been like that as I rode along the road. The country leveled into a great rolling valley and the trees gaveway to great farms and fields. In the fields, working, were some ofthe green creatures, which surprised me since the ones I'd seen beforehadn't seemed smart enough to count to one, let alone do any work. But it relieved me. I thought they might have been eating them orsomething. I passed two crossroads and started to meet more people, but nobodyquestioned me. I met people on horseback, and twice I met trucks movingsilently past. And I overtook a wagon driven by the oldest man I'veseen in my life. He waved to me, and I waved back. Near the end of the afternoon I came to the town, and there I receiveda jolt that sickened me. By the time I came out on the other side, I was sick. My hands werecold and sweaty and my head was spinning, and I wanted to kick Ninc toa gallop. I rode slowly in, looking all around, missing nothing. The town was allstone, wood and brick. Out of date. Out of time, really. There wereno machines more complicated than the trucks I'd seen earlier. At theedge of town, I passed a newspaper office with a headline pasted in thewindow—INVASION! I remember that. I wondered about it. But I looked most closely at the people. In all that town, I didn'tsee one girl over ten years old and no grown-up women at all. Therewere little kids, there were boys and there were men, but no girls. Allthe boys and men wore pants, and so did I, which must have been whyHorst and his buddies assumed I was a boy. It wasn't flattering; butI decided I'd not tell anybody different until I found what made theclocks tick on this planet. But that wasn't what bothered me. It was the kids. My God! Theyswarmed. I saw a family come out of a house—a father and four children. It was the most foul thing I've ever seen. It struck methen—these people were Free Birthers! I felt a wave of nausea and Iclosed my eyes until it passed. <doc-sep>The first thing you learn in school is that if it weren't for idiot andcriminal people like these, Earth would never have been destroyed. Theevacuation would never have had to take place, and eight billion peoplewouldn't have died. There wouldn't have been eight billion people.But, no. They bred and they spread and they devoured everything intheir path like a cancer. They gobbled up all the resources that Earthhad and crowded and shoved one another until the final war came. I am lucky. My great-great-grandparents were among those who had enoughforesight to see what was coming. If it hadn't been for them and someothers like them, there wouldn't be any humans left anywhere. And Iwouldn't be here. That may not scare you, but it scares me. What happened before, when people didn't use their heads and wound upblowing the Solar System apart, is something nobody should forget. Theolder people don't let us forget. But these people had, and that theCouncil should know. For the first time since I landed on Tintera, I felt really frightened. There was too much going on that I didn't understand. Ifelt a blind urge to get away, and when I reached the edge of town, Iwhomped Ninc a good one and gave him his head. I let him run for almost a mile before I pulled him down to a walkagain. I couldn't help wishing for Jimmy D. Whatever else he is, he'ssmart and brains I needed. How do you find out what's going on? Eavesdrop? That's a lousy method.For one thing, people can't be depended on to talk about the things youwant to hear. For another, you're likely to get caught. Ask somebody?Who? Make the mistake of bracing a fellow like Horst and you might windup with a sore head and an empty pocket. The best thing I could thinkof was to find a library, but that might be a job. I'd had two bad shocks on this day, but they weren't the last. In thelate afternoon, when the sun was starting to sink and a cool wind wasstarting to ripple the tree leaves, I saw the scoutship high in thesky. The dying sun colored it a deep red. Back again? I wondered whathad gone wrong. I reached down into my saddlebag and brought out my contact signal.The scoutship swung up in the sky in a familiar movement calculated todrop the stomach out of everybody aboard. George Fuhonin's style. Itriggered the signal, my heart turning flips all the while. I didn'tknow why he was back, but I wasn't really sorry. The ship swung around until it was coming back on a path almost over myhead, going in the same direction. Then it went into a slip and startedbucking so hard that I knew this wasn't hot piloting at all, just plainidiot stutter-fingered stupidity at the controls. As it skidded by meoverhead, I got a good look at it and knew that it wasn't one of ours.Not too different, but not ours. One more enigma. Where was it from? Not here. Even if you know how, andwe wouldn't tell these Mud-eaters how, a scoutship is something thattakes an advanced technology to build. <doc-sep>I felt defeated and tired. Not much farther along the road, I came toa campsite with two wagons pulled in for the night, and I couldn'thelp but pull in myself. The campsite was large and had two permanentbuildings on it. One was a well enclosure and the other was little morethan a high-walled pen. It didn't even have a roof. I set up camp and ate my dinner. In the wagon closest to me were a man,his wife and their three children. The kids were running around andplaying, and one of them ran close to the high-walled pen. His fathercame and pulled him away. The kids weren't to blame for their parents, but when one of them saidhello to me, I didn't even answer. I know how lousy I would feel if Ihad two or three brothers and sisters, but it didn't strike me untilthat moment that it wouldn't even seem out of the ordinary to thesekids. Isn't that horrible? About the time I finished eating, and before it grew dark, the old manI had seen earlier in the day drove his wagon in. He fascinated me. Hehad white hair, something I had read about in stories but had neverseen before. When nightfall came, they started a large fire. Everybody gatheredaround. There was singing for awhile, and then the father of thechildren tried to pack them off to bed. But they weren't ready to go,so the old man started telling them a story. In the old man's oddaccent, and sitting there in the campfire light surrounded by darkness,it seemed just right. It was about an old witch named Baba Yaga who lived in the forest ina house that stood on chicken legs. She was the nasty stepmother of anice little girl, and to get rid of the kid, she sent her on a phonyerrand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate thepoor girl's position. All the little girl had to help her were thehandkerchief, the comb and the pearl that she had inherited from herdear dead mother. But, as it turned out, they were just enough todefeat nasty old Baba Yaga and bring the girl safely home. I wished for the same for myself. The old man had just finished and they were starting to drag the kidsoff to bed when there was a commotion on the road at the edge of thecamp. I looked but my eyes were adjusted to the light of the fire and Icouldn't see far into the dark. A voice there said, I'll be damned if I'll take another day like thisone, Horst. We should have been here hours ago. It be your fault we'renot. Horst growled a retort. I decided that it was time for me to leave thecampfire. I got up and eased away as Horst and his men came up to thefire, and cut back to where Ninc was parked. I grabbed up my blanketsand mattress and started to roll them up. I had a pretty good idea nowwhat they used the high-walled pen for. I should have known that they would have to pen the animals up for thenight. I should have used my head. I hadn't and now it was time to takeleave. I never got the chance. <doc-sep>I was just heaving the saddle up on Ninc when I felt a hand on myshoulder and I was swung around. Well, well. Horst, look who we have here, he called. It was the onewho'd made the joke about me being beneath the notice of a Losel. Hewas alone with me now, but with that call the others would be up fast. I brought the saddle around as hard as I could and then up, and hewent down. He started to get up again, so I dropped the saddle on himand reached inside my jacket for my gun. Somebody grabbed me then frombehind and pinned my arms to my side. I opened my mouth to scream—I have a good scream—but a rough smellyhand clamped down over it before I had a chance to get more than alungful of air. I bit down hard—5000 lbs. psi, I'm told—but hedidn't let me go. I started to kick, but Horst jerked me off my feetand dragged me off. When we were behind the pen and out of earshot of the fire, he stoppeddragging me and dropped me in a heap. Make any noise, he said, andI'll hurt you. That was a silly way to put it, but somehow it said more than if he'dthreatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of thingsto do if he pleased. He examined his hand. There was enough moonlightfor that. I ought to club you anyway, he said. The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were puttingthe animals in the pen. He started to kick me, but Horst stopped him. No, he said. Look through the kid's gear, bring the horse and whatwe can use. The other one didn't move. Get going, Jack, Horst said in a menacingtone and they stood toe to toe for a long moment before Jack finallybacked down. It seemed to me that Horst wasn't so much objecting to mebeing kicked, but was rather establishing who did the kicking in hisbunch. But I wasn't done yet. I was scared, but I still had the pistol undermy jacket. Horst turned back to me and I said, You can't do this and get awaywith it. He said, Look, boy. You may not know it, but you be in a lot oftrouble. So don't give me a hard time. He still thought I was a boy. It was not time to correct him, but Ididn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering. The courts won't let you get away with this, I said. I'd passeda courthouse in the town with a carved motto over the doors: EQUALJUSTICE UNDER THE LAW or TRUTH OUR SHIELD AND JUSTICE OUR SWORD orsomething stuffy like that. He laughed, not a phony, villian-type laugh, but a real laugh, so Iknew I'd goofed. Boy, boy. Don't talk about the courts. I be doing you a favor. I betaking what I can use of your gear, but I be letting you go. You go tocourt and they'll take everything and lock you up besides. I be leavingyou your freedom. Why would they be doing that? I asked. I slipped my hand under myjacket. Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of theShips, Horst said. That be enough. They already have one of you bratsin jail in Forton. I was about to bring my gun out when up came Jack leading Ninc, withall my stuff loaded on. I mentally thanked him. He said, The kid's got some good equipment. But I can't make out whatthis be for. He held out my pickup signal. Horst looked at it, then handed it back. Throw it away, he said. I leveled my gun at them—Hell on Wheels strikes again! I said, Handthat over to me. Horst made a disgusted sound. Don't make any noise, I said, or you'll fry. Now hand it over. I stowed it away, then paused with one hand on the leather horn of thesaddle. What's the name of the kid in jail in Forton. I can't remember, he said. But it be coming to me. Hold on. I waited. Then suddenly my arm was hit a numbing blow from behindand the gun went flying. Jack pounced after it and Horst said, Goodenough, to the others who'd come up behind me. I felt like a fool. Horst stalked over and got the signal. He dropped it on the ground andsaid in a voice far colder than mine could ever be, because it wasnatural and mine wasn't, The piece be yours. Then he tromped on ituntil it cracked and fell apart. Then he said, Pull a gun on me twice. Twice. He slapped me so hardthat my ears rang. You dirty little punk. I said calmly, You big louse. It was a time I would have done better to keep my mouth shut. All I canremember is a flash of pain as his fist crunched against the side of myface and then nothing. Brains are no good if you don't use them. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

The story begins on a scoutship with 29 fourteen-year-olds. The narrator of the story is Mia Havero, she is short and skinny. Her father is the Chairman of the Council. The fourteen-year-olds are being dropped on a planet called Tintera for their Trial. Mia details her dislike of the planet. She rides on her horse Ninc for three days before she comes across other people. The men and Mia get into a disagreement because she does not want to join them. Mia proceeds to point her weapon and them. She tells them to drop their rifles on the ground and only lets them return to retrieve them once Mia and the men are a 20-minute ride away from the weapons. Mia continues on riding her horse and passes a town where she meets more people. Eventually, Mia ends up at a campsite where she intends to rest and eat. However, the men who she encountered before and flashed her weapon at, find her at the campsite. She is grabbed from behind. The men have their grip on her, preventing her from escaping from them. The men destroy her pickup signal and she is punched in the face by one of the men.

What was Mia taught about Earth being destroyed? [SEP] <s> DOWN TO THE WORLDS OF MEN BY ALEXEI PANSHIN The ancient rule was sink or swim—swim in the miasma of a planet without spaceflight, or sink to utter destruction! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The horses and packs were loaded before we went aboard the scoutship.The scout bay is no more than a great oversized airlock with a dozensmall ships squatting over their tubes, but it was the last of the Shipthat I might ever see, so I took a long final look from the top of theramp. There were sixteen of us girls and thirteen boys. We took our placesin the seats in the center of the scout. Riggy Allen made a joke thatnobody bothered to laugh at, and then we were all silent. I was feelinglost and just beginning to enjoy it when Jimmy Dentremont came over tome. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. Anintelligent runt like me. He said what I expected. Mia, do you want to go partners if we can gettogether when we get down? I guess he thought that because we were always matched on study I likedhim. Well, I did when I wasn't mad at him, but now I had that crackhe'd made about being a snob in mind, so I said, Not likely. I want tocome back alive. It wasn't fair, but it was a good crack and he wentback to his place without saying anything. My name is Mia Havero. I'm fourteen, of course, or I wouldn't betelling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect thatscrawniness to last much longer. Mother is very good looking. In themeantime, I've got brains as a consolation. After we were all settled, George Fuhonin, the pilot, raised the ramps.We sat there for five minutes while they bled air out of our tube andthen we just ... dropped. My stomach turned flips. We didn't have toleave that way, but George thinks it's fun to be a hot pilot. Thinking it over, I was almost sorry I'd been stinking to Jimmy D. He'sthe only competition I have my own age. The trouble is, you don't gopartners with the competition, do you? Besides, there was still thatcrack about being a snob. The planet chosen for our Trial was called Tintera. The last contactthe Ship had had with it—and we were the ones who dropped them—wasalmost 150 years ago. No contact since. That had made the Councildebate a little before they dropped us there, but they decided it wasall right in the end. It didn't make any practical difference to uskids because they never tell you anything about the place they're goingto drop you. All I knew was the name. I wouldn't have known that muchif Daddy weren't Chairman of the Council. I felt like crawling in a corner of the ship and crying, but nobodyelse was breaking down, so I didn't. I did feel miserable. I cried whenI said good-by to Mother and Daddy—a real emotional scene—but thatwasn't in public. <doc-sep>It wasn't the chance of not coming back that bothered me really,because I never believed that I wouldn't. The thought that made meunhappy was that I would have to be on a planet for a whole month.Planets make me feel wretched. The gravity is always wrong, for one thing. Either your arches andcalves ache or every time you step you think you're going to trip ona piece of fluff and break your neck. There are vegetables everywhereand little grubby things just looking for you to crawl on. If youcan think of anything creepier than that, you've got a real nastyimagination. Worst of all, planets stink. Every single one smells—I'vebeen on enough to know that. A planet is all right for a Mud-eater, butnot for me. We have a place in the Ship like that—the Third Level—but it's only athousand square miles and any time it gets on your nerves you can go upa level or down a level and be back in civilization. When we reached Tintera, they started dropping us. We swung over thesea from the morning side and then dropped low over gray-green forestedhills. Finally George spotted a clear area and dropped into it. Theydon't care what order you go in, so Jimmy D. jumped up, grabbed hisgear and then led his horse down the ramp. I think he was stillsmarting from the slap I'd given him. In a minute we were airborne again. I wondered if I would ever seeJimmy—if he would get back alive. It's no game we play. When we turn fourteen, they drop us on thenearest colonized planet and come back one month later. That may soundlike fun to you, but a lot of us never come back alive. Don't think I was helpless. I'm hell on wheels. They don't let us growfor fourteen years and then kick us out to die. They prepare us. Theydo figure, though, that if you can't keep yourself alive by the timeyou're fourteen, you're too stupid, foolish or unlucky to be any use tothe Ship. There's sense behind it. It means that everybody on the Shipis a person who can take care of himself if he has to. Daddy says thatsomething has to be done in a closed society to keep the populationfrom decaying mentally and physically, and this is it. And it helps tokeep the population steady. I began to check my gear out—sonic pistol, pickup signal so I could befound at the end of the month, saddle and cinches, food and clothes.Venie Morlock has got a crush on Jimmy D., and when she saw me startgetting ready to go, she began to check her gear, too. At our nextlanding, I grabbed Ninc's reins and cut Venie out smoothly. It didn'thave anything to do with Jimmy. I just couldn't stand to put off thebad moment any longer. The ship lifted impersonally away from Ninc and me like a rising bird,and in just a moment it was gone. Its gray-blue color was almost thecolor of the half-overcast sky, so I was never sure when I saw it last. II The first night was hell, I guess because I'm not used to having thelights out. That's when you really start to feel lonely, being alone inthe dark. When the sun disappears, somehow you wonder in your stomachif it's really going to come back. But I lived through it—one day inthirty gone. I rode in a spiral search pattern during the next two days. I had threethings in mind—stay alive, find people and find some of the others.The first was automatic. The second was to find out if there was a slotI could fit into for a month. If not, I would have to find a place tocamp out, as nasty as that would be. The third was to join forces,though not with that meatball Jimmy D. No, he isn't really a meatball. The trouble is that I don't takenothing from nobody, especially him, and he doesn't take nothing fromnobody, especially me. So we do a lot of fighting. I had a good month for Trial. My birthday is in November—too close toYear End Holiday for my taste, but this year it was all right. It wasspring on Tintera, but it was December in the Ship, and after we gotback we had five days of Holiday to celebrate. It gave me something tolook forward to. In two days of riding, I ran onto nothing but a few odd-lookinganimals. I shot one small one and ate it. It turned out to taste prettygood, though not as good as a slice from Hambone No. 4, to my mind thebest meat vat on the Ship. I've eaten things so gruey-looking that Iwondered that anybody had the guts to try them in the first place andthey've turned out to taste good. And I've seen things that looked goodthat I couldn't keep on my stomach. So I guess I was lucky. On the third day, I found the road. I brought Ninc down off thehillside, losing sight of the road in the trees, and then reachingit in the level below. It was narrow and made of sand spread over ahard base. Out of the marks in the sand, I could pick out the tracksof horses and both narrow and wide wheels. Other tracks I couldn'tidentify. One of the smartest moves in history was to include horses whenthey dropped the colonies. I say they because, while we did theactual dropping, the idea originated with the whole evac plan back onEarth. Considering how short a time it was in which the colonies wereestablished, there was not time to set up industry, so they had to havedraft animals. The first of the Great Ships was finished in 2025. One of the eight,as well as the two that were being built then, went up with everythingelse in the Solar System in 2041. In that sixteen years 112 colonieswere planted. I don't know how many of those planets had animals that could have been substituted but, even if they had, they would havehad to be domesticated from scratch. That would have been stupid. I'llbet that half the colonies would have failed if they hadn't had horses. <doc-sep>We'd come in from the west over the ocean, so I traveled east on theroad. That much water makes me nervous, and roads have to go somewhere. I came on my first travelers three hours later. I rounded a tree-linedbend, ducking an overhanging branch, and pulled Ninc to a stop. Therewere five men on horseback herding a bunch of the ugliest creaturesalive. They were green and grotesque. They had squat bodies, long limbs andknobby bulges at their joints. They had square, flat animal masks forfaces. But they walked on their hind legs and they had paws that werealmost hands, and that was enough to make them seem almost human. Theymade a wordless, chilling, lowing sound as they milled and ploddedalong. I started Ninc up again and moved slowly to catch up with them. All themen on horseback had guns in saddle boots. They looked as nervous ascats with kittens. One of them had a string of packhorses on a lineand he saw me and called to another who seemed to be the leader. Thatone wheeled his black horse and rode back toward me. He was a middle-aged man, maybe as old as my Daddy. He was large and hehad a hard face. Normal enough, but hard. He pulled to a halt when wereached each other, but I kept going. He had to come around and followme. I believe in judging a person by his face. A man can't help theface he owns, but he can help the expression he wears on it. If a manlooks mean, I generally believe that he is. This one looked mean. Thatwas why I kept riding. He said, What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head?There be escaped Losels in these woods. I told you I hadn't finished filling out yet, but I hadn't thought itwas that bad. I wasn't ready to make a fight over the point, though.Generally, I can't keep my bloody mouth shut, but now I didn't sayanything. It seemed smart. Where be you from? he asked. I pointed to the road behind us. And where be you going? I pointed ahead. No other way to go. He seemed exasperated. I have that effect sometimes. Even on Mother andDaddy, who should know better. We were coming up on the others now, and the man said, Maybe you'dbetter ride on from here with us. For protection. He had an odd way of twisting his sounds, almost as though he had amouthful of mush. I wondered whether he were just an oddball or whethereverybody here spoke the same way. I'd never heard InternationalEnglish spoken any way but one, even on the planet Daddy made me visitwith him. One of the other outriders came easing by then. I suppose they'd beenwatching us all the while. He called to the hard man. He be awfully small, Horst. I doubt me a Losel'd even notice him atall. We mought as well throw him back again. The rider looked at me. When I didn't dissolve in terror as heexpected, he shrugged and one of the other men laughed. The hard man said to the others, This boy will be riding along with usto Forton for protection. I looked down at the plodding, unhappy creatures they were drivingalong and one looked back at me with dull, expressionless golden eyes.I felt uncomfortable. I said, I don't think so. What the man did then surprised me. He said, I do think so, andreached for the rifle in his saddle boot. I whipped my sonic pistol out so fast that he was caught leaning overwith the rifle half out. His jaw dropped. He knew what I held and hedidn't want to be fried. I said, Ease your rifles out and drop them gently to the ground. They did, watching me all the while with wary expressions. When all the rifles were on the ground, I said, All right, let's go. They didn't want to move. They didn't want to leave the rifles. Icould see that. Horst didn't say anything. He just watched me withnarrowed eyes. But one of the others held up a hand and in wheedlingtones said, Look here, kid.... Shut up, I said, in as mean a voice as I could muster, and he did. Itsurprised me. I didn't think I sounded that mean. I decided he justdidn't trust the crazy kid not to shoot. After twenty minutes of easy riding for us and hard walking for thecreatures, I said, If you want your rifles, you can go back and getthem now. I dug my heels into Ninc's sides and rode on. At the nextbend I looked back and saw four of them holding their packhorses andthe creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. I put this episode in the file and hold for analysis section in mymind and rode on, feeling good. I think I even giggled once. SometimesI even convince myself that I'm hell on wheels. III When I was nine, my Daddy gave me a painted wooden doll that mygreat-grandmother brought from Earth. The thing is that inside it,nestled one in another, are eleven more dolls, each one smaller thanthe last. I like to watch people when they open it for the first time. My face must have been like that as I rode along the road. The country leveled into a great rolling valley and the trees gaveway to great farms and fields. In the fields, working, were some ofthe green creatures, which surprised me since the ones I'd seen beforehadn't seemed smart enough to count to one, let alone do any work. But it relieved me. I thought they might have been eating them orsomething. I passed two crossroads and started to meet more people, but nobodyquestioned me. I met people on horseback, and twice I met trucks movingsilently past. And I overtook a wagon driven by the oldest man I'veseen in my life. He waved to me, and I waved back. Near the end of the afternoon I came to the town, and there I receiveda jolt that sickened me. By the time I came out on the other side, I was sick. My hands werecold and sweaty and my head was spinning, and I wanted to kick Ninc toa gallop. I rode slowly in, looking all around, missing nothing. The town was allstone, wood and brick. Out of date. Out of time, really. There wereno machines more complicated than the trucks I'd seen earlier. At theedge of town, I passed a newspaper office with a headline pasted in thewindow—INVASION! I remember that. I wondered about it. But I looked most closely at the people. In all that town, I didn'tsee one girl over ten years old and no grown-up women at all. Therewere little kids, there were boys and there were men, but no girls. Allthe boys and men wore pants, and so did I, which must have been whyHorst and his buddies assumed I was a boy. It wasn't flattering; butI decided I'd not tell anybody different until I found what made theclocks tick on this planet. But that wasn't what bothered me. It was the kids. My God! Theyswarmed. I saw a family come out of a house—a father and four children. It was the most foul thing I've ever seen. It struck methen—these people were Free Birthers! I felt a wave of nausea and Iclosed my eyes until it passed. <doc-sep>The first thing you learn in school is that if it weren't for idiot andcriminal people like these, Earth would never have been destroyed. Theevacuation would never have had to take place, and eight billion peoplewouldn't have died. There wouldn't have been eight billion people.But, no. They bred and they spread and they devoured everything intheir path like a cancer. They gobbled up all the resources that Earthhad and crowded and shoved one another until the final war came. I am lucky. My great-great-grandparents were among those who had enoughforesight to see what was coming. If it hadn't been for them and someothers like them, there wouldn't be any humans left anywhere. And Iwouldn't be here. That may not scare you, but it scares me. What happened before, when people didn't use their heads and wound upblowing the Solar System apart, is something nobody should forget. Theolder people don't let us forget. But these people had, and that theCouncil should know. For the first time since I landed on Tintera, I felt really frightened. There was too much going on that I didn't understand. Ifelt a blind urge to get away, and when I reached the edge of town, Iwhomped Ninc a good one and gave him his head. I let him run for almost a mile before I pulled him down to a walkagain. I couldn't help wishing for Jimmy D. Whatever else he is, he'ssmart and brains I needed. How do you find out what's going on? Eavesdrop? That's a lousy method.For one thing, people can't be depended on to talk about the things youwant to hear. For another, you're likely to get caught. Ask somebody?Who? Make the mistake of bracing a fellow like Horst and you might windup with a sore head and an empty pocket. The best thing I could thinkof was to find a library, but that might be a job. I'd had two bad shocks on this day, but they weren't the last. In thelate afternoon, when the sun was starting to sink and a cool wind wasstarting to ripple the tree leaves, I saw the scoutship high in thesky. The dying sun colored it a deep red. Back again? I wondered whathad gone wrong. I reached down into my saddlebag and brought out my contact signal.The scoutship swung up in the sky in a familiar movement calculated todrop the stomach out of everybody aboard. George Fuhonin's style. Itriggered the signal, my heart turning flips all the while. I didn'tknow why he was back, but I wasn't really sorry. The ship swung around until it was coming back on a path almost over myhead, going in the same direction. Then it went into a slip and startedbucking so hard that I knew this wasn't hot piloting at all, just plainidiot stutter-fingered stupidity at the controls. As it skidded by meoverhead, I got a good look at it and knew that it wasn't one of ours.Not too different, but not ours. One more enigma. Where was it from? Not here. Even if you know how, andwe wouldn't tell these Mud-eaters how, a scoutship is something thattakes an advanced technology to build. <doc-sep>I felt defeated and tired. Not much farther along the road, I came toa campsite with two wagons pulled in for the night, and I couldn'thelp but pull in myself. The campsite was large and had two permanentbuildings on it. One was a well enclosure and the other was little morethan a high-walled pen. It didn't even have a roof. I set up camp and ate my dinner. In the wagon closest to me were a man,his wife and their three children. The kids were running around andplaying, and one of them ran close to the high-walled pen. His fathercame and pulled him away. The kids weren't to blame for their parents, but when one of them saidhello to me, I didn't even answer. I know how lousy I would feel if Ihad two or three brothers and sisters, but it didn't strike me untilthat moment that it wouldn't even seem out of the ordinary to thesekids. Isn't that horrible? About the time I finished eating, and before it grew dark, the old manI had seen earlier in the day drove his wagon in. He fascinated me. Hehad white hair, something I had read about in stories but had neverseen before. When nightfall came, they started a large fire. Everybody gatheredaround. There was singing for awhile, and then the father of thechildren tried to pack them off to bed. But they weren't ready to go,so the old man started telling them a story. In the old man's oddaccent, and sitting there in the campfire light surrounded by darkness,it seemed just right. It was about an old witch named Baba Yaga who lived in the forest ina house that stood on chicken legs. She was the nasty stepmother of anice little girl, and to get rid of the kid, she sent her on a phonyerrand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate thepoor girl's position. All the little girl had to help her were thehandkerchief, the comb and the pearl that she had inherited from herdear dead mother. But, as it turned out, they were just enough todefeat nasty old Baba Yaga and bring the girl safely home. I wished for the same for myself. The old man had just finished and they were starting to drag the kidsoff to bed when there was a commotion on the road at the edge of thecamp. I looked but my eyes were adjusted to the light of the fire and Icouldn't see far into the dark. A voice there said, I'll be damned if I'll take another day like thisone, Horst. We should have been here hours ago. It be your fault we'renot. Horst growled a retort. I decided that it was time for me to leave thecampfire. I got up and eased away as Horst and his men came up to thefire, and cut back to where Ninc was parked. I grabbed up my blanketsand mattress and started to roll them up. I had a pretty good idea nowwhat they used the high-walled pen for. I should have known that they would have to pen the animals up for thenight. I should have used my head. I hadn't and now it was time to takeleave. I never got the chance. <doc-sep>I was just heaving the saddle up on Ninc when I felt a hand on myshoulder and I was swung around. Well, well. Horst, look who we have here, he called. It was the onewho'd made the joke about me being beneath the notice of a Losel. Hewas alone with me now, but with that call the others would be up fast. I brought the saddle around as hard as I could and then up, and hewent down. He started to get up again, so I dropped the saddle on himand reached inside my jacket for my gun. Somebody grabbed me then frombehind and pinned my arms to my side. I opened my mouth to scream—I have a good scream—but a rough smellyhand clamped down over it before I had a chance to get more than alungful of air. I bit down hard—5000 lbs. psi, I'm told—but hedidn't let me go. I started to kick, but Horst jerked me off my feetand dragged me off. When we were behind the pen and out of earshot of the fire, he stoppeddragging me and dropped me in a heap. Make any noise, he said, andI'll hurt you. That was a silly way to put it, but somehow it said more than if he'dthreatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of thingsto do if he pleased. He examined his hand. There was enough moonlightfor that. I ought to club you anyway, he said. The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were puttingthe animals in the pen. He started to kick me, but Horst stopped him. No, he said. Look through the kid's gear, bring the horse and whatwe can use. The other one didn't move. Get going, Jack, Horst said in a menacingtone and they stood toe to toe for a long moment before Jack finallybacked down. It seemed to me that Horst wasn't so much objecting to mebeing kicked, but was rather establishing who did the kicking in hisbunch. But I wasn't done yet. I was scared, but I still had the pistol undermy jacket. Horst turned back to me and I said, You can't do this and get awaywith it. He said, Look, boy. You may not know it, but you be in a lot oftrouble. So don't give me a hard time. He still thought I was a boy. It was not time to correct him, but Ididn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering. The courts won't let you get away with this, I said. I'd passeda courthouse in the town with a carved motto over the doors: EQUALJUSTICE UNDER THE LAW or TRUTH OUR SHIELD AND JUSTICE OUR SWORD orsomething stuffy like that. He laughed, not a phony, villian-type laugh, but a real laugh, so Iknew I'd goofed. Boy, boy. Don't talk about the courts. I be doing you a favor. I betaking what I can use of your gear, but I be letting you go. You go tocourt and they'll take everything and lock you up besides. I be leavingyou your freedom. Why would they be doing that? I asked. I slipped my hand under myjacket. Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of theShips, Horst said. That be enough. They already have one of you bratsin jail in Forton. I was about to bring my gun out when up came Jack leading Ninc, withall my stuff loaded on. I mentally thanked him. He said, The kid's got some good equipment. But I can't make out whatthis be for. He held out my pickup signal. Horst looked at it, then handed it back. Throw it away, he said. I leveled my gun at them—Hell on Wheels strikes again! I said, Handthat over to me. Horst made a disgusted sound. Don't make any noise, I said, or you'll fry. Now hand it over. I stowed it away, then paused with one hand on the leather horn of thesaddle. What's the name of the kid in jail in Forton. I can't remember, he said. But it be coming to me. Hold on. I waited. Then suddenly my arm was hit a numbing blow from behindand the gun went flying. Jack pounced after it and Horst said, Goodenough, to the others who'd come up behind me. I felt like a fool. Horst stalked over and got the signal. He dropped it on the ground andsaid in a voice far colder than mine could ever be, because it wasnatural and mine wasn't, The piece be yours. Then he tromped on ituntil it cracked and fell apart. Then he said, Pull a gun on me twice. Twice. He slapped me so hardthat my ears rang. You dirty little punk. I said calmly, You big louse. It was a time I would have done better to keep my mouth shut. All I canremember is a flash of pain as his fist crunched against the side of myface and then nothing. Brains are no good if you don't use them. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was Mia taught about Earth being destroyed?

Mia is taught that those who destroyed Earth were not smart and that they deserve punishment for their actions. According to her, Earth was evacuated because of overpopulation. People had too many children that required more resources than Earth was capable of providing. Consequently, there was a fight over the remaining resources that caused a war. Mia has great-great-grandparents that were among those who anticipated the destruction of Earth and prepared to leave. In addition, Mia talks about how humans left Earth. She says there were Great Ships built around 2025. The Great Ships and other things went into the Solar System in 2041. The humans that escaped established 112 colonies in the first 16 years. During this retelling of what she was taught, she emphasizes that horses were important to the success of the new colonies.

What about the planet Tintera does Mia note is different than what she is used to? [SEP] <s> DOWN TO THE WORLDS OF MEN BY ALEXEI PANSHIN The ancient rule was sink or swim—swim in the miasma of a planet without spaceflight, or sink to utter destruction! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The horses and packs were loaded before we went aboard the scoutship.The scout bay is no more than a great oversized airlock with a dozensmall ships squatting over their tubes, but it was the last of the Shipthat I might ever see, so I took a long final look from the top of theramp. There were sixteen of us girls and thirteen boys. We took our placesin the seats in the center of the scout. Riggy Allen made a joke thatnobody bothered to laugh at, and then we were all silent. I was feelinglost and just beginning to enjoy it when Jimmy Dentremont came over tome. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. Anintelligent runt like me. He said what I expected. Mia, do you want to go partners if we can gettogether when we get down? I guess he thought that because we were always matched on study I likedhim. Well, I did when I wasn't mad at him, but now I had that crackhe'd made about being a snob in mind, so I said, Not likely. I want tocome back alive. It wasn't fair, but it was a good crack and he wentback to his place without saying anything. My name is Mia Havero. I'm fourteen, of course, or I wouldn't betelling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect thatscrawniness to last much longer. Mother is very good looking. In themeantime, I've got brains as a consolation. After we were all settled, George Fuhonin, the pilot, raised the ramps.We sat there for five minutes while they bled air out of our tube andthen we just ... dropped. My stomach turned flips. We didn't have toleave that way, but George thinks it's fun to be a hot pilot. Thinking it over, I was almost sorry I'd been stinking to Jimmy D. He'sthe only competition I have my own age. The trouble is, you don't gopartners with the competition, do you? Besides, there was still thatcrack about being a snob. The planet chosen for our Trial was called Tintera. The last contactthe Ship had had with it—and we were the ones who dropped them—wasalmost 150 years ago. No contact since. That had made the Councildebate a little before they dropped us there, but they decided it wasall right in the end. It didn't make any practical difference to uskids because they never tell you anything about the place they're goingto drop you. All I knew was the name. I wouldn't have known that muchif Daddy weren't Chairman of the Council. I felt like crawling in a corner of the ship and crying, but nobodyelse was breaking down, so I didn't. I did feel miserable. I cried whenI said good-by to Mother and Daddy—a real emotional scene—but thatwasn't in public. <doc-sep>It wasn't the chance of not coming back that bothered me really,because I never believed that I wouldn't. The thought that made meunhappy was that I would have to be on a planet for a whole month.Planets make me feel wretched. The gravity is always wrong, for one thing. Either your arches andcalves ache or every time you step you think you're going to trip ona piece of fluff and break your neck. There are vegetables everywhereand little grubby things just looking for you to crawl on. If youcan think of anything creepier than that, you've got a real nastyimagination. Worst of all, planets stink. Every single one smells—I'vebeen on enough to know that. A planet is all right for a Mud-eater, butnot for me. We have a place in the Ship like that—the Third Level—but it's only athousand square miles and any time it gets on your nerves you can go upa level or down a level and be back in civilization. When we reached Tintera, they started dropping us. We swung over thesea from the morning side and then dropped low over gray-green forestedhills. Finally George spotted a clear area and dropped into it. Theydon't care what order you go in, so Jimmy D. jumped up, grabbed hisgear and then led his horse down the ramp. I think he was stillsmarting from the slap I'd given him. In a minute we were airborne again. I wondered if I would ever seeJimmy—if he would get back alive. It's no game we play. When we turn fourteen, they drop us on thenearest colonized planet and come back one month later. That may soundlike fun to you, but a lot of us never come back alive. Don't think I was helpless. I'm hell on wheels. They don't let us growfor fourteen years and then kick us out to die. They prepare us. Theydo figure, though, that if you can't keep yourself alive by the timeyou're fourteen, you're too stupid, foolish or unlucky to be any use tothe Ship. There's sense behind it. It means that everybody on the Shipis a person who can take care of himself if he has to. Daddy says thatsomething has to be done in a closed society to keep the populationfrom decaying mentally and physically, and this is it. And it helps tokeep the population steady. I began to check my gear out—sonic pistol, pickup signal so I could befound at the end of the month, saddle and cinches, food and clothes.Venie Morlock has got a crush on Jimmy D., and when she saw me startgetting ready to go, she began to check her gear, too. At our nextlanding, I grabbed Ninc's reins and cut Venie out smoothly. It didn'thave anything to do with Jimmy. I just couldn't stand to put off thebad moment any longer. The ship lifted impersonally away from Ninc and me like a rising bird,and in just a moment it was gone. Its gray-blue color was almost thecolor of the half-overcast sky, so I was never sure when I saw it last. II The first night was hell, I guess because I'm not used to having thelights out. That's when you really start to feel lonely, being alone inthe dark. When the sun disappears, somehow you wonder in your stomachif it's really going to come back. But I lived through it—one day inthirty gone. I rode in a spiral search pattern during the next two days. I had threethings in mind—stay alive, find people and find some of the others.The first was automatic. The second was to find out if there was a slotI could fit into for a month. If not, I would have to find a place tocamp out, as nasty as that would be. The third was to join forces,though not with that meatball Jimmy D. No, he isn't really a meatball. The trouble is that I don't takenothing from nobody, especially him, and he doesn't take nothing fromnobody, especially me. So we do a lot of fighting. I had a good month for Trial. My birthday is in November—too close toYear End Holiday for my taste, but this year it was all right. It wasspring on Tintera, but it was December in the Ship, and after we gotback we had five days of Holiday to celebrate. It gave me something tolook forward to. In two days of riding, I ran onto nothing but a few odd-lookinganimals. I shot one small one and ate it. It turned out to taste prettygood, though not as good as a slice from Hambone No. 4, to my mind thebest meat vat on the Ship. I've eaten things so gruey-looking that Iwondered that anybody had the guts to try them in the first place andthey've turned out to taste good. And I've seen things that looked goodthat I couldn't keep on my stomach. So I guess I was lucky. On the third day, I found the road. I brought Ninc down off thehillside, losing sight of the road in the trees, and then reachingit in the level below. It was narrow and made of sand spread over ahard base. Out of the marks in the sand, I could pick out the tracksof horses and both narrow and wide wheels. Other tracks I couldn'tidentify. One of the smartest moves in history was to include horses whenthey dropped the colonies. I say they because, while we did theactual dropping, the idea originated with the whole evac plan back onEarth. Considering how short a time it was in which the colonies wereestablished, there was not time to set up industry, so they had to havedraft animals. The first of the Great Ships was finished in 2025. One of the eight,as well as the two that were being built then, went up with everythingelse in the Solar System in 2041. In that sixteen years 112 colonieswere planted. I don't know how many of those planets had animals that could have been substituted but, even if they had, they would havehad to be domesticated from scratch. That would have been stupid. I'llbet that half the colonies would have failed if they hadn't had horses. <doc-sep>We'd come in from the west over the ocean, so I traveled east on theroad. That much water makes me nervous, and roads have to go somewhere. I came on my first travelers three hours later. I rounded a tree-linedbend, ducking an overhanging branch, and pulled Ninc to a stop. Therewere five men on horseback herding a bunch of the ugliest creaturesalive. They were green and grotesque. They had squat bodies, long limbs andknobby bulges at their joints. They had square, flat animal masks forfaces. But they walked on their hind legs and they had paws that werealmost hands, and that was enough to make them seem almost human. Theymade a wordless, chilling, lowing sound as they milled and ploddedalong. I started Ninc up again and moved slowly to catch up with them. All themen on horseback had guns in saddle boots. They looked as nervous ascats with kittens. One of them had a string of packhorses on a lineand he saw me and called to another who seemed to be the leader. Thatone wheeled his black horse and rode back toward me. He was a middle-aged man, maybe as old as my Daddy. He was large and hehad a hard face. Normal enough, but hard. He pulled to a halt when wereached each other, but I kept going. He had to come around and followme. I believe in judging a person by his face. A man can't help theface he owns, but he can help the expression he wears on it. If a manlooks mean, I generally believe that he is. This one looked mean. Thatwas why I kept riding. He said, What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head?There be escaped Losels in these woods. I told you I hadn't finished filling out yet, but I hadn't thought itwas that bad. I wasn't ready to make a fight over the point, though.Generally, I can't keep my bloody mouth shut, but now I didn't sayanything. It seemed smart. Where be you from? he asked. I pointed to the road behind us. And where be you going? I pointed ahead. No other way to go. He seemed exasperated. I have that effect sometimes. Even on Mother andDaddy, who should know better. We were coming up on the others now, and the man said, Maybe you'dbetter ride on from here with us. For protection. He had an odd way of twisting his sounds, almost as though he had amouthful of mush. I wondered whether he were just an oddball or whethereverybody here spoke the same way. I'd never heard InternationalEnglish spoken any way but one, even on the planet Daddy made me visitwith him. One of the other outriders came easing by then. I suppose they'd beenwatching us all the while. He called to the hard man. He be awfully small, Horst. I doubt me a Losel'd even notice him atall. We mought as well throw him back again. The rider looked at me. When I didn't dissolve in terror as heexpected, he shrugged and one of the other men laughed. The hard man said to the others, This boy will be riding along with usto Forton for protection. I looked down at the plodding, unhappy creatures they were drivingalong and one looked back at me with dull, expressionless golden eyes.I felt uncomfortable. I said, I don't think so. What the man did then surprised me. He said, I do think so, andreached for the rifle in his saddle boot. I whipped my sonic pistol out so fast that he was caught leaning overwith the rifle half out. His jaw dropped. He knew what I held and hedidn't want to be fried. I said, Ease your rifles out and drop them gently to the ground. They did, watching me all the while with wary expressions. When all the rifles were on the ground, I said, All right, let's go. They didn't want to move. They didn't want to leave the rifles. Icould see that. Horst didn't say anything. He just watched me withnarrowed eyes. But one of the others held up a hand and in wheedlingtones said, Look here, kid.... Shut up, I said, in as mean a voice as I could muster, and he did. Itsurprised me. I didn't think I sounded that mean. I decided he justdidn't trust the crazy kid not to shoot. After twenty minutes of easy riding for us and hard walking for thecreatures, I said, If you want your rifles, you can go back and getthem now. I dug my heels into Ninc's sides and rode on. At the nextbend I looked back and saw four of them holding their packhorses andthe creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. I put this episode in the file and hold for analysis section in mymind and rode on, feeling good. I think I even giggled once. SometimesI even convince myself that I'm hell on wheels. III When I was nine, my Daddy gave me a painted wooden doll that mygreat-grandmother brought from Earth. The thing is that inside it,nestled one in another, are eleven more dolls, each one smaller thanthe last. I like to watch people when they open it for the first time. My face must have been like that as I rode along the road. The country leveled into a great rolling valley and the trees gaveway to great farms and fields. In the fields, working, were some ofthe green creatures, which surprised me since the ones I'd seen beforehadn't seemed smart enough to count to one, let alone do any work. But it relieved me. I thought they might have been eating them orsomething. I passed two crossroads and started to meet more people, but nobodyquestioned me. I met people on horseback, and twice I met trucks movingsilently past. And I overtook a wagon driven by the oldest man I'veseen in my life. He waved to me, and I waved back. Near the end of the afternoon I came to the town, and there I receiveda jolt that sickened me. By the time I came out on the other side, I was sick. My hands werecold and sweaty and my head was spinning, and I wanted to kick Ninc toa gallop. I rode slowly in, looking all around, missing nothing. The town was allstone, wood and brick. Out of date. Out of time, really. There wereno machines more complicated than the trucks I'd seen earlier. At theedge of town, I passed a newspaper office with a headline pasted in thewindow—INVASION! I remember that. I wondered about it. But I looked most closely at the people. In all that town, I didn'tsee one girl over ten years old and no grown-up women at all. Therewere little kids, there were boys and there were men, but no girls. Allthe boys and men wore pants, and so did I, which must have been whyHorst and his buddies assumed I was a boy. It wasn't flattering; butI decided I'd not tell anybody different until I found what made theclocks tick on this planet. But that wasn't what bothered me. It was the kids. My God! Theyswarmed. I saw a family come out of a house—a father and four children. It was the most foul thing I've ever seen. It struck methen—these people were Free Birthers! I felt a wave of nausea and Iclosed my eyes until it passed. <doc-sep>The first thing you learn in school is that if it weren't for idiot andcriminal people like these, Earth would never have been destroyed. Theevacuation would never have had to take place, and eight billion peoplewouldn't have died. There wouldn't have been eight billion people.But, no. They bred and they spread and they devoured everything intheir path like a cancer. They gobbled up all the resources that Earthhad and crowded and shoved one another until the final war came. I am lucky. My great-great-grandparents were among those who had enoughforesight to see what was coming. If it hadn't been for them and someothers like them, there wouldn't be any humans left anywhere. And Iwouldn't be here. That may not scare you, but it scares me. What happened before, when people didn't use their heads and wound upblowing the Solar System apart, is something nobody should forget. Theolder people don't let us forget. But these people had, and that theCouncil should know. For the first time since I landed on Tintera, I felt really frightened. There was too much going on that I didn't understand. Ifelt a blind urge to get away, and when I reached the edge of town, Iwhomped Ninc a good one and gave him his head. I let him run for almost a mile before I pulled him down to a walkagain. I couldn't help wishing for Jimmy D. Whatever else he is, he'ssmart and brains I needed. How do you find out what's going on? Eavesdrop? That's a lousy method.For one thing, people can't be depended on to talk about the things youwant to hear. For another, you're likely to get caught. Ask somebody?Who? Make the mistake of bracing a fellow like Horst and you might windup with a sore head and an empty pocket. The best thing I could thinkof was to find a library, but that might be a job. I'd had two bad shocks on this day, but they weren't the last. In thelate afternoon, when the sun was starting to sink and a cool wind wasstarting to ripple the tree leaves, I saw the scoutship high in thesky. The dying sun colored it a deep red. Back again? I wondered whathad gone wrong. I reached down into my saddlebag and brought out my contact signal.The scoutship swung up in the sky in a familiar movement calculated todrop the stomach out of everybody aboard. George Fuhonin's style. Itriggered the signal, my heart turning flips all the while. I didn'tknow why he was back, but I wasn't really sorry. The ship swung around until it was coming back on a path almost over myhead, going in the same direction. Then it went into a slip and startedbucking so hard that I knew this wasn't hot piloting at all, just plainidiot stutter-fingered stupidity at the controls. As it skidded by meoverhead, I got a good look at it and knew that it wasn't one of ours.Not too different, but not ours. One more enigma. Where was it from? Not here. Even if you know how, andwe wouldn't tell these Mud-eaters how, a scoutship is something thattakes an advanced technology to build. <doc-sep>I felt defeated and tired. Not much farther along the road, I came toa campsite with two wagons pulled in for the night, and I couldn'thelp but pull in myself. The campsite was large and had two permanentbuildings on it. One was a well enclosure and the other was little morethan a high-walled pen. It didn't even have a roof. I set up camp and ate my dinner. In the wagon closest to me were a man,his wife and their three children. The kids were running around andplaying, and one of them ran close to the high-walled pen. His fathercame and pulled him away. The kids weren't to blame for their parents, but when one of them saidhello to me, I didn't even answer. I know how lousy I would feel if Ihad two or three brothers and sisters, but it didn't strike me untilthat moment that it wouldn't even seem out of the ordinary to thesekids. Isn't that horrible? About the time I finished eating, and before it grew dark, the old manI had seen earlier in the day drove his wagon in. He fascinated me. Hehad white hair, something I had read about in stories but had neverseen before. When nightfall came, they started a large fire. Everybody gatheredaround. There was singing for awhile, and then the father of thechildren tried to pack them off to bed. But they weren't ready to go,so the old man started telling them a story. In the old man's oddaccent, and sitting there in the campfire light surrounded by darkness,it seemed just right. It was about an old witch named Baba Yaga who lived in the forest ina house that stood on chicken legs. She was the nasty stepmother of anice little girl, and to get rid of the kid, she sent her on a phonyerrand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate thepoor girl's position. All the little girl had to help her were thehandkerchief, the comb and the pearl that she had inherited from herdear dead mother. But, as it turned out, they were just enough todefeat nasty old Baba Yaga and bring the girl safely home. I wished for the same for myself. The old man had just finished and they were starting to drag the kidsoff to bed when there was a commotion on the road at the edge of thecamp. I looked but my eyes were adjusted to the light of the fire and Icouldn't see far into the dark. A voice there said, I'll be damned if I'll take another day like thisone, Horst. We should have been here hours ago. It be your fault we'renot. Horst growled a retort. I decided that it was time for me to leave thecampfire. I got up and eased away as Horst and his men came up to thefire, and cut back to where Ninc was parked. I grabbed up my blanketsand mattress and started to roll them up. I had a pretty good idea nowwhat they used the high-walled pen for. I should have known that they would have to pen the animals up for thenight. I should have used my head. I hadn't and now it was time to takeleave. I never got the chance. <doc-sep>I was just heaving the saddle up on Ninc when I felt a hand on myshoulder and I was swung around. Well, well. Horst, look who we have here, he called. It was the onewho'd made the joke about me being beneath the notice of a Losel. Hewas alone with me now, but with that call the others would be up fast. I brought the saddle around as hard as I could and then up, and hewent down. He started to get up again, so I dropped the saddle on himand reached inside my jacket for my gun. Somebody grabbed me then frombehind and pinned my arms to my side. I opened my mouth to scream—I have a good scream—but a rough smellyhand clamped down over it before I had a chance to get more than alungful of air. I bit down hard—5000 lbs. psi, I'm told—but hedidn't let me go. I started to kick, but Horst jerked me off my feetand dragged me off. When we were behind the pen and out of earshot of the fire, he stoppeddragging me and dropped me in a heap. Make any noise, he said, andI'll hurt you. That was a silly way to put it, but somehow it said more than if he'dthreatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of thingsto do if he pleased. He examined his hand. There was enough moonlightfor that. I ought to club you anyway, he said. The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were puttingthe animals in the pen. He started to kick me, but Horst stopped him. No, he said. Look through the kid's gear, bring the horse and whatwe can use. The other one didn't move. Get going, Jack, Horst said in a menacingtone and they stood toe to toe for a long moment before Jack finallybacked down. It seemed to me that Horst wasn't so much objecting to mebeing kicked, but was rather establishing who did the kicking in hisbunch. But I wasn't done yet. I was scared, but I still had the pistol undermy jacket. Horst turned back to me and I said, You can't do this and get awaywith it. He said, Look, boy. You may not know it, but you be in a lot oftrouble. So don't give me a hard time. He still thought I was a boy. It was not time to correct him, but Ididn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering. The courts won't let you get away with this, I said. I'd passeda courthouse in the town with a carved motto over the doors: EQUALJUSTICE UNDER THE LAW or TRUTH OUR SHIELD AND JUSTICE OUR SWORD orsomething stuffy like that. He laughed, not a phony, villian-type laugh, but a real laugh, so Iknew I'd goofed. Boy, boy. Don't talk about the courts. I be doing you a favor. I betaking what I can use of your gear, but I be letting you go. You go tocourt and they'll take everything and lock you up besides. I be leavingyou your freedom. Why would they be doing that? I asked. I slipped my hand under myjacket. Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of theShips, Horst said. That be enough. They already have one of you bratsin jail in Forton. I was about to bring my gun out when up came Jack leading Ninc, withall my stuff loaded on. I mentally thanked him. He said, The kid's got some good equipment. But I can't make out whatthis be for. He held out my pickup signal. Horst looked at it, then handed it back. Throw it away, he said. I leveled my gun at them—Hell on Wheels strikes again! I said, Handthat over to me. Horst made a disgusted sound. Don't make any noise, I said, or you'll fry. Now hand it over. I stowed it away, then paused with one hand on the leather horn of thesaddle. What's the name of the kid in jail in Forton. I can't remember, he said. But it be coming to me. Hold on. I waited. Then suddenly my arm was hit a numbing blow from behindand the gun went flying. Jack pounced after it and Horst said, Goodenough, to the others who'd come up behind me. I felt like a fool. Horst stalked over and got the signal. He dropped it on the ground andsaid in a voice far colder than mine could ever be, because it wasnatural and mine wasn't, The piece be yours. Then he tromped on ituntil it cracked and fell apart. Then he said, Pull a gun on me twice. Twice. He slapped me so hardthat my ears rang. You dirty little punk. I said calmly, You big louse. It was a time I would have done better to keep my mouth shut. All I canremember is a flash of pain as his fist crunched against the side of myface and then nothing. Brains are no good if you don't use them. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What about the planet Tintera does Mia note is different than what she is used to?

Mia discusses how she does not like different planets for many reasons, gravity included. In addition, she does not like the idea of animals that can crawl on her or vegetation existing unintentionally. She also does not like the smells of different planets. When Mia sees individuals with more than one child, she becomes nauseous at the sight. To Mia, that seems reckless to have so many children as she is taught that it was the cause of Earth’s destruction. Another occurrence that Mia finds interesting is when she sees an old man during her travels. She is fascinated by his white hair, which she notes that she had never seen in person before.

What happens at fourteen for the inhabitants of the Ship and why? [SEP] <s> DOWN TO THE WORLDS OF MEN BY ALEXEI PANSHIN The ancient rule was sink or swim—swim in the miasma of a planet without spaceflight, or sink to utter destruction! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The horses and packs were loaded before we went aboard the scoutship.The scout bay is no more than a great oversized airlock with a dozensmall ships squatting over their tubes, but it was the last of the Shipthat I might ever see, so I took a long final look from the top of theramp. There were sixteen of us girls and thirteen boys. We took our placesin the seats in the center of the scout. Riggy Allen made a joke thatnobody bothered to laugh at, and then we were all silent. I was feelinglost and just beginning to enjoy it when Jimmy Dentremont came over tome. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. Anintelligent runt like me. He said what I expected. Mia, do you want to go partners if we can gettogether when we get down? I guess he thought that because we were always matched on study I likedhim. Well, I did when I wasn't mad at him, but now I had that crackhe'd made about being a snob in mind, so I said, Not likely. I want tocome back alive. It wasn't fair, but it was a good crack and he wentback to his place without saying anything. My name is Mia Havero. I'm fourteen, of course, or I wouldn't betelling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect thatscrawniness to last much longer. Mother is very good looking. In themeantime, I've got brains as a consolation. After we were all settled, George Fuhonin, the pilot, raised the ramps.We sat there for five minutes while they bled air out of our tube andthen we just ... dropped. My stomach turned flips. We didn't have toleave that way, but George thinks it's fun to be a hot pilot. Thinking it over, I was almost sorry I'd been stinking to Jimmy D. He'sthe only competition I have my own age. The trouble is, you don't gopartners with the competition, do you? Besides, there was still thatcrack about being a snob. The planet chosen for our Trial was called Tintera. The last contactthe Ship had had with it—and we were the ones who dropped them—wasalmost 150 years ago. No contact since. That had made the Councildebate a little before they dropped us there, but they decided it wasall right in the end. It didn't make any practical difference to uskids because they never tell you anything about the place they're goingto drop you. All I knew was the name. I wouldn't have known that muchif Daddy weren't Chairman of the Council. I felt like crawling in a corner of the ship and crying, but nobodyelse was breaking down, so I didn't. I did feel miserable. I cried whenI said good-by to Mother and Daddy—a real emotional scene—but thatwasn't in public. <doc-sep>It wasn't the chance of not coming back that bothered me really,because I never believed that I wouldn't. The thought that made meunhappy was that I would have to be on a planet for a whole month.Planets make me feel wretched. The gravity is always wrong, for one thing. Either your arches andcalves ache or every time you step you think you're going to trip ona piece of fluff and break your neck. There are vegetables everywhereand little grubby things just looking for you to crawl on. If youcan think of anything creepier than that, you've got a real nastyimagination. Worst of all, planets stink. Every single one smells—I'vebeen on enough to know that. A planet is all right for a Mud-eater, butnot for me. We have a place in the Ship like that—the Third Level—but it's only athousand square miles and any time it gets on your nerves you can go upa level or down a level and be back in civilization. When we reached Tintera, they started dropping us. We swung over thesea from the morning side and then dropped low over gray-green forestedhills. Finally George spotted a clear area and dropped into it. Theydon't care what order you go in, so Jimmy D. jumped up, grabbed hisgear and then led his horse down the ramp. I think he was stillsmarting from the slap I'd given him. In a minute we were airborne again. I wondered if I would ever seeJimmy—if he would get back alive. It's no game we play. When we turn fourteen, they drop us on thenearest colonized planet and come back one month later. That may soundlike fun to you, but a lot of us never come back alive. Don't think I was helpless. I'm hell on wheels. They don't let us growfor fourteen years and then kick us out to die. They prepare us. Theydo figure, though, that if you can't keep yourself alive by the timeyou're fourteen, you're too stupid, foolish or unlucky to be any use tothe Ship. There's sense behind it. It means that everybody on the Shipis a person who can take care of himself if he has to. Daddy says thatsomething has to be done in a closed society to keep the populationfrom decaying mentally and physically, and this is it. And it helps tokeep the population steady. I began to check my gear out—sonic pistol, pickup signal so I could befound at the end of the month, saddle and cinches, food and clothes.Venie Morlock has got a crush on Jimmy D., and when she saw me startgetting ready to go, she began to check her gear, too. At our nextlanding, I grabbed Ninc's reins and cut Venie out smoothly. It didn'thave anything to do with Jimmy. I just couldn't stand to put off thebad moment any longer. The ship lifted impersonally away from Ninc and me like a rising bird,and in just a moment it was gone. Its gray-blue color was almost thecolor of the half-overcast sky, so I was never sure when I saw it last. II The first night was hell, I guess because I'm not used to having thelights out. That's when you really start to feel lonely, being alone inthe dark. When the sun disappears, somehow you wonder in your stomachif it's really going to come back. But I lived through it—one day inthirty gone. I rode in a spiral search pattern during the next two days. I had threethings in mind—stay alive, find people and find some of the others.The first was automatic. The second was to find out if there was a slotI could fit into for a month. If not, I would have to find a place tocamp out, as nasty as that would be. The third was to join forces,though not with that meatball Jimmy D. No, he isn't really a meatball. The trouble is that I don't takenothing from nobody, especially him, and he doesn't take nothing fromnobody, especially me. So we do a lot of fighting. I had a good month for Trial. My birthday is in November—too close toYear End Holiday for my taste, but this year it was all right. It wasspring on Tintera, but it was December in the Ship, and after we gotback we had five days of Holiday to celebrate. It gave me something tolook forward to. In two days of riding, I ran onto nothing but a few odd-lookinganimals. I shot one small one and ate it. It turned out to taste prettygood, though not as good as a slice from Hambone No. 4, to my mind thebest meat vat on the Ship. I've eaten things so gruey-looking that Iwondered that anybody had the guts to try them in the first place andthey've turned out to taste good. And I've seen things that looked goodthat I couldn't keep on my stomach. So I guess I was lucky. On the third day, I found the road. I brought Ninc down off thehillside, losing sight of the road in the trees, and then reachingit in the level below. It was narrow and made of sand spread over ahard base. Out of the marks in the sand, I could pick out the tracksof horses and both narrow and wide wheels. Other tracks I couldn'tidentify. One of the smartest moves in history was to include horses whenthey dropped the colonies. I say they because, while we did theactual dropping, the idea originated with the whole evac plan back onEarth. Considering how short a time it was in which the colonies wereestablished, there was not time to set up industry, so they had to havedraft animals. The first of the Great Ships was finished in 2025. One of the eight,as well as the two that were being built then, went up with everythingelse in the Solar System in 2041. In that sixteen years 112 colonieswere planted. I don't know how many of those planets had animals that could have been substituted but, even if they had, they would havehad to be domesticated from scratch. That would have been stupid. I'llbet that half the colonies would have failed if they hadn't had horses. <doc-sep>We'd come in from the west over the ocean, so I traveled east on theroad. That much water makes me nervous, and roads have to go somewhere. I came on my first travelers three hours later. I rounded a tree-linedbend, ducking an overhanging branch, and pulled Ninc to a stop. Therewere five men on horseback herding a bunch of the ugliest creaturesalive. They were green and grotesque. They had squat bodies, long limbs andknobby bulges at their joints. They had square, flat animal masks forfaces. But they walked on their hind legs and they had paws that werealmost hands, and that was enough to make them seem almost human. Theymade a wordless, chilling, lowing sound as they milled and ploddedalong. I started Ninc up again and moved slowly to catch up with them. All themen on horseback had guns in saddle boots. They looked as nervous ascats with kittens. One of them had a string of packhorses on a lineand he saw me and called to another who seemed to be the leader. Thatone wheeled his black horse and rode back toward me. He was a middle-aged man, maybe as old as my Daddy. He was large and hehad a hard face. Normal enough, but hard. He pulled to a halt when wereached each other, but I kept going. He had to come around and followme. I believe in judging a person by his face. A man can't help theface he owns, but he can help the expression he wears on it. If a manlooks mean, I generally believe that he is. This one looked mean. Thatwas why I kept riding. He said, What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head?There be escaped Losels in these woods. I told you I hadn't finished filling out yet, but I hadn't thought itwas that bad. I wasn't ready to make a fight over the point, though.Generally, I can't keep my bloody mouth shut, but now I didn't sayanything. It seemed smart. Where be you from? he asked. I pointed to the road behind us. And where be you going? I pointed ahead. No other way to go. He seemed exasperated. I have that effect sometimes. Even on Mother andDaddy, who should know better. We were coming up on the others now, and the man said, Maybe you'dbetter ride on from here with us. For protection. He had an odd way of twisting his sounds, almost as though he had amouthful of mush. I wondered whether he were just an oddball or whethereverybody here spoke the same way. I'd never heard InternationalEnglish spoken any way but one, even on the planet Daddy made me visitwith him. One of the other outriders came easing by then. I suppose they'd beenwatching us all the while. He called to the hard man. He be awfully small, Horst. I doubt me a Losel'd even notice him atall. We mought as well throw him back again. The rider looked at me. When I didn't dissolve in terror as heexpected, he shrugged and one of the other men laughed. The hard man said to the others, This boy will be riding along with usto Forton for protection. I looked down at the plodding, unhappy creatures they were drivingalong and one looked back at me with dull, expressionless golden eyes.I felt uncomfortable. I said, I don't think so. What the man did then surprised me. He said, I do think so, andreached for the rifle in his saddle boot. I whipped my sonic pistol out so fast that he was caught leaning overwith the rifle half out. His jaw dropped. He knew what I held and hedidn't want to be fried. I said, Ease your rifles out and drop them gently to the ground. They did, watching me all the while with wary expressions. When all the rifles were on the ground, I said, All right, let's go. They didn't want to move. They didn't want to leave the rifles. Icould see that. Horst didn't say anything. He just watched me withnarrowed eyes. But one of the others held up a hand and in wheedlingtones said, Look here, kid.... Shut up, I said, in as mean a voice as I could muster, and he did. Itsurprised me. I didn't think I sounded that mean. I decided he justdidn't trust the crazy kid not to shoot. After twenty minutes of easy riding for us and hard walking for thecreatures, I said, If you want your rifles, you can go back and getthem now. I dug my heels into Ninc's sides and rode on. At the nextbend I looked back and saw four of them holding their packhorses andthe creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. I put this episode in the file and hold for analysis section in mymind and rode on, feeling good. I think I even giggled once. SometimesI even convince myself that I'm hell on wheels. III When I was nine, my Daddy gave me a painted wooden doll that mygreat-grandmother brought from Earth. The thing is that inside it,nestled one in another, are eleven more dolls, each one smaller thanthe last. I like to watch people when they open it for the first time. My face must have been like that as I rode along the road. The country leveled into a great rolling valley and the trees gaveway to great farms and fields. In the fields, working, were some ofthe green creatures, which surprised me since the ones I'd seen beforehadn't seemed smart enough to count to one, let alone do any work. But it relieved me. I thought they might have been eating them orsomething. I passed two crossroads and started to meet more people, but nobodyquestioned me. I met people on horseback, and twice I met trucks movingsilently past. And I overtook a wagon driven by the oldest man I'veseen in my life. He waved to me, and I waved back. Near the end of the afternoon I came to the town, and there I receiveda jolt that sickened me. By the time I came out on the other side, I was sick. My hands werecold and sweaty and my head was spinning, and I wanted to kick Ninc toa gallop. I rode slowly in, looking all around, missing nothing. The town was allstone, wood and brick. Out of date. Out of time, really. There wereno machines more complicated than the trucks I'd seen earlier. At theedge of town, I passed a newspaper office with a headline pasted in thewindow—INVASION! I remember that. I wondered about it. But I looked most closely at the people. In all that town, I didn'tsee one girl over ten years old and no grown-up women at all. Therewere little kids, there were boys and there were men, but no girls. Allthe boys and men wore pants, and so did I, which must have been whyHorst and his buddies assumed I was a boy. It wasn't flattering; butI decided I'd not tell anybody different until I found what made theclocks tick on this planet. But that wasn't what bothered me. It was the kids. My God! Theyswarmed. I saw a family come out of a house—a father and four children. It was the most foul thing I've ever seen. It struck methen—these people were Free Birthers! I felt a wave of nausea and Iclosed my eyes until it passed. <doc-sep>The first thing you learn in school is that if it weren't for idiot andcriminal people like these, Earth would never have been destroyed. Theevacuation would never have had to take place, and eight billion peoplewouldn't have died. There wouldn't have been eight billion people.But, no. They bred and they spread and they devoured everything intheir path like a cancer. They gobbled up all the resources that Earthhad and crowded and shoved one another until the final war came. I am lucky. My great-great-grandparents were among those who had enoughforesight to see what was coming. If it hadn't been for them and someothers like them, there wouldn't be any humans left anywhere. And Iwouldn't be here. That may not scare you, but it scares me. What happened before, when people didn't use their heads and wound upblowing the Solar System apart, is something nobody should forget. Theolder people don't let us forget. But these people had, and that theCouncil should know. For the first time since I landed on Tintera, I felt really frightened. There was too much going on that I didn't understand. Ifelt a blind urge to get away, and when I reached the edge of town, Iwhomped Ninc a good one and gave him his head. I let him run for almost a mile before I pulled him down to a walkagain. I couldn't help wishing for Jimmy D. Whatever else he is, he'ssmart and brains I needed. How do you find out what's going on? Eavesdrop? That's a lousy method.For one thing, people can't be depended on to talk about the things youwant to hear. For another, you're likely to get caught. Ask somebody?Who? Make the mistake of bracing a fellow like Horst and you might windup with a sore head and an empty pocket. The best thing I could thinkof was to find a library, but that might be a job. I'd had two bad shocks on this day, but they weren't the last. In thelate afternoon, when the sun was starting to sink and a cool wind wasstarting to ripple the tree leaves, I saw the scoutship high in thesky. The dying sun colored it a deep red. Back again? I wondered whathad gone wrong. I reached down into my saddlebag and brought out my contact signal.The scoutship swung up in the sky in a familiar movement calculated todrop the stomach out of everybody aboard. George Fuhonin's style. Itriggered the signal, my heart turning flips all the while. I didn'tknow why he was back, but I wasn't really sorry. The ship swung around until it was coming back on a path almost over myhead, going in the same direction. Then it went into a slip and startedbucking so hard that I knew this wasn't hot piloting at all, just plainidiot stutter-fingered stupidity at the controls. As it skidded by meoverhead, I got a good look at it and knew that it wasn't one of ours.Not too different, but not ours. One more enigma. Where was it from? Not here. Even if you know how, andwe wouldn't tell these Mud-eaters how, a scoutship is something thattakes an advanced technology to build. <doc-sep>I felt defeated and tired. Not much farther along the road, I came toa campsite with two wagons pulled in for the night, and I couldn'thelp but pull in myself. The campsite was large and had two permanentbuildings on it. One was a well enclosure and the other was little morethan a high-walled pen. It didn't even have a roof. I set up camp and ate my dinner. In the wagon closest to me were a man,his wife and their three children. The kids were running around andplaying, and one of them ran close to the high-walled pen. His fathercame and pulled him away. The kids weren't to blame for their parents, but when one of them saidhello to me, I didn't even answer. I know how lousy I would feel if Ihad two or three brothers and sisters, but it didn't strike me untilthat moment that it wouldn't even seem out of the ordinary to thesekids. Isn't that horrible? About the time I finished eating, and before it grew dark, the old manI had seen earlier in the day drove his wagon in. He fascinated me. Hehad white hair, something I had read about in stories but had neverseen before. When nightfall came, they started a large fire. Everybody gatheredaround. There was singing for awhile, and then the father of thechildren tried to pack them off to bed. But they weren't ready to go,so the old man started telling them a story. In the old man's oddaccent, and sitting there in the campfire light surrounded by darkness,it seemed just right. It was about an old witch named Baba Yaga who lived in the forest ina house that stood on chicken legs. She was the nasty stepmother of anice little girl, and to get rid of the kid, she sent her on a phonyerrand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate thepoor girl's position. All the little girl had to help her were thehandkerchief, the comb and the pearl that she had inherited from herdear dead mother. But, as it turned out, they were just enough todefeat nasty old Baba Yaga and bring the girl safely home. I wished for the same for myself. The old man had just finished and they were starting to drag the kidsoff to bed when there was a commotion on the road at the edge of thecamp. I looked but my eyes were adjusted to the light of the fire and Icouldn't see far into the dark. A voice there said, I'll be damned if I'll take another day like thisone, Horst. We should have been here hours ago. It be your fault we'renot. Horst growled a retort. I decided that it was time for me to leave thecampfire. I got up and eased away as Horst and his men came up to thefire, and cut back to where Ninc was parked. I grabbed up my blanketsand mattress and started to roll them up. I had a pretty good idea nowwhat they used the high-walled pen for. I should have known that they would have to pen the animals up for thenight. I should have used my head. I hadn't and now it was time to takeleave. I never got the chance. <doc-sep>I was just heaving the saddle up on Ninc when I felt a hand on myshoulder and I was swung around. Well, well. Horst, look who we have here, he called. It was the onewho'd made the joke about me being beneath the notice of a Losel. Hewas alone with me now, but with that call the others would be up fast. I brought the saddle around as hard as I could and then up, and hewent down. He started to get up again, so I dropped the saddle on himand reached inside my jacket for my gun. Somebody grabbed me then frombehind and pinned my arms to my side. I opened my mouth to scream—I have a good scream—but a rough smellyhand clamped down over it before I had a chance to get more than alungful of air. I bit down hard—5000 lbs. psi, I'm told—but hedidn't let me go. I started to kick, but Horst jerked me off my feetand dragged me off. When we were behind the pen and out of earshot of the fire, he stoppeddragging me and dropped me in a heap. Make any noise, he said, andI'll hurt you. That was a silly way to put it, but somehow it said more than if he'dthreatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of thingsto do if he pleased. He examined his hand. There was enough moonlightfor that. I ought to club you anyway, he said. The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were puttingthe animals in the pen. He started to kick me, but Horst stopped him. No, he said. Look through the kid's gear, bring the horse and whatwe can use. The other one didn't move. Get going, Jack, Horst said in a menacingtone and they stood toe to toe for a long moment before Jack finallybacked down. It seemed to me that Horst wasn't so much objecting to mebeing kicked, but was rather establishing who did the kicking in hisbunch. But I wasn't done yet. I was scared, but I still had the pistol undermy jacket. Horst turned back to me and I said, You can't do this and get awaywith it. He said, Look, boy. You may not know it, but you be in a lot oftrouble. So don't give me a hard time. He still thought I was a boy. It was not time to correct him, but Ididn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering. The courts won't let you get away with this, I said. I'd passeda courthouse in the town with a carved motto over the doors: EQUALJUSTICE UNDER THE LAW or TRUTH OUR SHIELD AND JUSTICE OUR SWORD orsomething stuffy like that. He laughed, not a phony, villian-type laugh, but a real laugh, so Iknew I'd goofed. Boy, boy. Don't talk about the courts. I be doing you a favor. I betaking what I can use of your gear, but I be letting you go. You go tocourt and they'll take everything and lock you up besides. I be leavingyou your freedom. Why would they be doing that? I asked. I slipped my hand under myjacket. Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of theShips, Horst said. That be enough. They already have one of you bratsin jail in Forton. I was about to bring my gun out when up came Jack leading Ninc, withall my stuff loaded on. I mentally thanked him. He said, The kid's got some good equipment. But I can't make out whatthis be for. He held out my pickup signal. Horst looked at it, then handed it back. Throw it away, he said. I leveled my gun at them—Hell on Wheels strikes again! I said, Handthat over to me. Horst made a disgusted sound. Don't make any noise, I said, or you'll fry. Now hand it over. I stowed it away, then paused with one hand on the leather horn of thesaddle. What's the name of the kid in jail in Forton. I can't remember, he said. But it be coming to me. Hold on. I waited. Then suddenly my arm was hit a numbing blow from behindand the gun went flying. Jack pounced after it and Horst said, Goodenough, to the others who'd come up behind me. I felt like a fool. Horst stalked over and got the signal. He dropped it on the ground andsaid in a voice far colder than mine could ever be, because it wasnatural and mine wasn't, The piece be yours. Then he tromped on ituntil it cracked and fell apart. Then he said, Pull a gun on me twice. Twice. He slapped me so hardthat my ears rang. You dirty little punk. I said calmly, You big louse. It was a time I would have done better to keep my mouth shut. All I canremember is a flash of pain as his fist crunched against the side of myface and then nothing. Brains are no good if you don't use them. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What happens at fourteen for the inhabitants of the Ship and why?

At fourteen years old, the inhabitants of the Ship are put through a Trial. During the trial, they are dropped off at the nearest colonized planet and then picked up a month later if they manage to survive on the planet. Each of the fourteen-year-olds are dropped off in separate locations on the planet. They are given a pick signal device so the scoutship that escorted them to the planet is able to locate them at the end of their 30-day Trial period. The purpose of the trial according to the Chairman of the Council is because a closed society needs a way to ensure the physical and mental of its populations. In addition, it helps to maintain a suitable number of individuals in the population. Those that are unable to survive their Trial are presumed to be not fit for life on the Ship.

Who is Horst and what is his relationship with Mia? [SEP] <s> DOWN TO THE WORLDS OF MEN BY ALEXEI PANSHIN The ancient rule was sink or swim—swim in the miasma of a planet without spaceflight, or sink to utter destruction! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I The horses and packs were loaded before we went aboard the scoutship.The scout bay is no more than a great oversized airlock with a dozensmall ships squatting over their tubes, but it was the last of the Shipthat I might ever see, so I took a long final look from the top of theramp. There were sixteen of us girls and thirteen boys. We took our placesin the seats in the center of the scout. Riggy Allen made a joke thatnobody bothered to laugh at, and then we were all silent. I was feelinglost and just beginning to enjoy it when Jimmy Dentremont came over tome. He's red-headed and has a face that makes him look about ten. Anintelligent runt like me. He said what I expected. Mia, do you want to go partners if we can gettogether when we get down? I guess he thought that because we were always matched on study I likedhim. Well, I did when I wasn't mad at him, but now I had that crackhe'd made about being a snob in mind, so I said, Not likely. I want tocome back alive. It wasn't fair, but it was a good crack and he wentback to his place without saying anything. My name is Mia Havero. I'm fourteen, of course, or I wouldn't betelling this. I'm short, dark and scrawny, though I don't expect thatscrawniness to last much longer. Mother is very good looking. In themeantime, I've got brains as a consolation. After we were all settled, George Fuhonin, the pilot, raised the ramps.We sat there for five minutes while they bled air out of our tube andthen we just ... dropped. My stomach turned flips. We didn't have toleave that way, but George thinks it's fun to be a hot pilot. Thinking it over, I was almost sorry I'd been stinking to Jimmy D. He'sthe only competition I have my own age. The trouble is, you don't gopartners with the competition, do you? Besides, there was still thatcrack about being a snob. The planet chosen for our Trial was called Tintera. The last contactthe Ship had had with it—and we were the ones who dropped them—wasalmost 150 years ago. No contact since. That had made the Councildebate a little before they dropped us there, but they decided it wasall right in the end. It didn't make any practical difference to uskids because they never tell you anything about the place they're goingto drop you. All I knew was the name. I wouldn't have known that muchif Daddy weren't Chairman of the Council. I felt like crawling in a corner of the ship and crying, but nobodyelse was breaking down, so I didn't. I did feel miserable. I cried whenI said good-by to Mother and Daddy—a real emotional scene—but thatwasn't in public. <doc-sep>It wasn't the chance of not coming back that bothered me really,because I never believed that I wouldn't. The thought that made meunhappy was that I would have to be on a planet for a whole month.Planets make me feel wretched. The gravity is always wrong, for one thing. Either your arches andcalves ache or every time you step you think you're going to trip ona piece of fluff and break your neck. There are vegetables everywhereand little grubby things just looking for you to crawl on. If youcan think of anything creepier than that, you've got a real nastyimagination. Worst of all, planets stink. Every single one smells—I'vebeen on enough to know that. A planet is all right for a Mud-eater, butnot for me. We have a place in the Ship like that—the Third Level—but it's only athousand square miles and any time it gets on your nerves you can go upa level or down a level and be back in civilization. When we reached Tintera, they started dropping us. We swung over thesea from the morning side and then dropped low over gray-green forestedhills. Finally George spotted a clear area and dropped into it. Theydon't care what order you go in, so Jimmy D. jumped up, grabbed hisgear and then led his horse down the ramp. I think he was stillsmarting from the slap I'd given him. In a minute we were airborne again. I wondered if I would ever seeJimmy—if he would get back alive. It's no game we play. When we turn fourteen, they drop us on thenearest colonized planet and come back one month later. That may soundlike fun to you, but a lot of us never come back alive. Don't think I was helpless. I'm hell on wheels. They don't let us growfor fourteen years and then kick us out to die. They prepare us. Theydo figure, though, that if you can't keep yourself alive by the timeyou're fourteen, you're too stupid, foolish or unlucky to be any use tothe Ship. There's sense behind it. It means that everybody on the Shipis a person who can take care of himself if he has to. Daddy says thatsomething has to be done in a closed society to keep the populationfrom decaying mentally and physically, and this is it. And it helps tokeep the population steady. I began to check my gear out—sonic pistol, pickup signal so I could befound at the end of the month, saddle and cinches, food and clothes.Venie Morlock has got a crush on Jimmy D., and when she saw me startgetting ready to go, she began to check her gear, too. At our nextlanding, I grabbed Ninc's reins and cut Venie out smoothly. It didn'thave anything to do with Jimmy. I just couldn't stand to put off thebad moment any longer. The ship lifted impersonally away from Ninc and me like a rising bird,and in just a moment it was gone. Its gray-blue color was almost thecolor of the half-overcast sky, so I was never sure when I saw it last. II The first night was hell, I guess because I'm not used to having thelights out. That's when you really start to feel lonely, being alone inthe dark. When the sun disappears, somehow you wonder in your stomachif it's really going to come back. But I lived through it—one day inthirty gone. I rode in a spiral search pattern during the next two days. I had threethings in mind—stay alive, find people and find some of the others.The first was automatic. The second was to find out if there was a slotI could fit into for a month. If not, I would have to find a place tocamp out, as nasty as that would be. The third was to join forces,though not with that meatball Jimmy D. No, he isn't really a meatball. The trouble is that I don't takenothing from nobody, especially him, and he doesn't take nothing fromnobody, especially me. So we do a lot of fighting. I had a good month for Trial. My birthday is in November—too close toYear End Holiday for my taste, but this year it was all right. It wasspring on Tintera, but it was December in the Ship, and after we gotback we had five days of Holiday to celebrate. It gave me something tolook forward to. In two days of riding, I ran onto nothing but a few odd-lookinganimals. I shot one small one and ate it. It turned out to taste prettygood, though not as good as a slice from Hambone No. 4, to my mind thebest meat vat on the Ship. I've eaten things so gruey-looking that Iwondered that anybody had the guts to try them in the first place andthey've turned out to taste good. And I've seen things that looked goodthat I couldn't keep on my stomach. So I guess I was lucky. On the third day, I found the road. I brought Ninc down off thehillside, losing sight of the road in the trees, and then reachingit in the level below. It was narrow and made of sand spread over ahard base. Out of the marks in the sand, I could pick out the tracksof horses and both narrow and wide wheels. Other tracks I couldn'tidentify. One of the smartest moves in history was to include horses whenthey dropped the colonies. I say they because, while we did theactual dropping, the idea originated with the whole evac plan back onEarth. Considering how short a time it was in which the colonies wereestablished, there was not time to set up industry, so they had to havedraft animals. The first of the Great Ships was finished in 2025. One of the eight,as well as the two that were being built then, went up with everythingelse in the Solar System in 2041. In that sixteen years 112 colonieswere planted. I don't know how many of those planets had animals that could have been substituted but, even if they had, they would havehad to be domesticated from scratch. That would have been stupid. I'llbet that half the colonies would have failed if they hadn't had horses. <doc-sep>We'd come in from the west over the ocean, so I traveled east on theroad. That much water makes me nervous, and roads have to go somewhere. I came on my first travelers three hours later. I rounded a tree-linedbend, ducking an overhanging branch, and pulled Ninc to a stop. Therewere five men on horseback herding a bunch of the ugliest creaturesalive. They were green and grotesque. They had squat bodies, long limbs andknobby bulges at their joints. They had square, flat animal masks forfaces. But they walked on their hind legs and they had paws that werealmost hands, and that was enough to make them seem almost human. Theymade a wordless, chilling, lowing sound as they milled and ploddedalong. I started Ninc up again and moved slowly to catch up with them. All themen on horseback had guns in saddle boots. They looked as nervous ascats with kittens. One of them had a string of packhorses on a lineand he saw me and called to another who seemed to be the leader. Thatone wheeled his black horse and rode back toward me. He was a middle-aged man, maybe as old as my Daddy. He was large and hehad a hard face. Normal enough, but hard. He pulled to a halt when wereached each other, but I kept going. He had to come around and followme. I believe in judging a person by his face. A man can't help theface he owns, but he can help the expression he wears on it. If a manlooks mean, I generally believe that he is. This one looked mean. Thatwas why I kept riding. He said, What be you doing out here, boy? Be you out of your head?There be escaped Losels in these woods. I told you I hadn't finished filling out yet, but I hadn't thought itwas that bad. I wasn't ready to make a fight over the point, though.Generally, I can't keep my bloody mouth shut, but now I didn't sayanything. It seemed smart. Where be you from? he asked. I pointed to the road behind us. And where be you going? I pointed ahead. No other way to go. He seemed exasperated. I have that effect sometimes. Even on Mother andDaddy, who should know better. We were coming up on the others now, and the man said, Maybe you'dbetter ride on from here with us. For protection. He had an odd way of twisting his sounds, almost as though he had amouthful of mush. I wondered whether he were just an oddball or whethereverybody here spoke the same way. I'd never heard InternationalEnglish spoken any way but one, even on the planet Daddy made me visitwith him. One of the other outriders came easing by then. I suppose they'd beenwatching us all the while. He called to the hard man. He be awfully small, Horst. I doubt me a Losel'd even notice him atall. We mought as well throw him back again. The rider looked at me. When I didn't dissolve in terror as heexpected, he shrugged and one of the other men laughed. The hard man said to the others, This boy will be riding along with usto Forton for protection. I looked down at the plodding, unhappy creatures they were drivingalong and one looked back at me with dull, expressionless golden eyes.I felt uncomfortable. I said, I don't think so. What the man did then surprised me. He said, I do think so, andreached for the rifle in his saddle boot. I whipped my sonic pistol out so fast that he was caught leaning overwith the rifle half out. His jaw dropped. He knew what I held and hedidn't want to be fried. I said, Ease your rifles out and drop them gently to the ground. They did, watching me all the while with wary expressions. When all the rifles were on the ground, I said, All right, let's go. They didn't want to move. They didn't want to leave the rifles. Icould see that. Horst didn't say anything. He just watched me withnarrowed eyes. But one of the others held up a hand and in wheedlingtones said, Look here, kid.... Shut up, I said, in as mean a voice as I could muster, and he did. Itsurprised me. I didn't think I sounded that mean. I decided he justdidn't trust the crazy kid not to shoot. After twenty minutes of easy riding for us and hard walking for thecreatures, I said, If you want your rifles, you can go back and getthem now. I dug my heels into Ninc's sides and rode on. At the nextbend I looked back and saw four of them holding their packhorses andthe creatures still while one beat a dust-raising retreat down the road. I put this episode in the file and hold for analysis section in mymind and rode on, feeling good. I think I even giggled once. SometimesI even convince myself that I'm hell on wheels. III When I was nine, my Daddy gave me a painted wooden doll that mygreat-grandmother brought from Earth. The thing is that inside it,nestled one in another, are eleven more dolls, each one smaller thanthe last. I like to watch people when they open it for the first time. My face must have been like that as I rode along the road. The country leveled into a great rolling valley and the trees gaveway to great farms and fields. In the fields, working, were some ofthe green creatures, which surprised me since the ones I'd seen beforehadn't seemed smart enough to count to one, let alone do any work. But it relieved me. I thought they might have been eating them orsomething. I passed two crossroads and started to meet more people, but nobodyquestioned me. I met people on horseback, and twice I met trucks movingsilently past. And I overtook a wagon driven by the oldest man I'veseen in my life. He waved to me, and I waved back. Near the end of the afternoon I came to the town, and there I receiveda jolt that sickened me. By the time I came out on the other side, I was sick. My hands werecold and sweaty and my head was spinning, and I wanted to kick Ninc toa gallop. I rode slowly in, looking all around, missing nothing. The town was allstone, wood and brick. Out of date. Out of time, really. There wereno machines more complicated than the trucks I'd seen earlier. At theedge of town, I passed a newspaper office with a headline pasted in thewindow—INVASION! I remember that. I wondered about it. But I looked most closely at the people. In all that town, I didn'tsee one girl over ten years old and no grown-up women at all. Therewere little kids, there were boys and there were men, but no girls. Allthe boys and men wore pants, and so did I, which must have been whyHorst and his buddies assumed I was a boy. It wasn't flattering; butI decided I'd not tell anybody different until I found what made theclocks tick on this planet. But that wasn't what bothered me. It was the kids. My God! Theyswarmed. I saw a family come out of a house—a father and four children. It was the most foul thing I've ever seen. It struck methen—these people were Free Birthers! I felt a wave of nausea and Iclosed my eyes until it passed. <doc-sep>The first thing you learn in school is that if it weren't for idiot andcriminal people like these, Earth would never have been destroyed. Theevacuation would never have had to take place, and eight billion peoplewouldn't have died. There wouldn't have been eight billion people.But, no. They bred and they spread and they devoured everything intheir path like a cancer. They gobbled up all the resources that Earthhad and crowded and shoved one another until the final war came. I am lucky. My great-great-grandparents were among those who had enoughforesight to see what was coming. If it hadn't been for them and someothers like them, there wouldn't be any humans left anywhere. And Iwouldn't be here. That may not scare you, but it scares me. What happened before, when people didn't use their heads and wound upblowing the Solar System apart, is something nobody should forget. Theolder people don't let us forget. But these people had, and that theCouncil should know. For the first time since I landed on Tintera, I felt really frightened. There was too much going on that I didn't understand. Ifelt a blind urge to get away, and when I reached the edge of town, Iwhomped Ninc a good one and gave him his head. I let him run for almost a mile before I pulled him down to a walkagain. I couldn't help wishing for Jimmy D. Whatever else he is, he'ssmart and brains I needed. How do you find out what's going on? Eavesdrop? That's a lousy method.For one thing, people can't be depended on to talk about the things youwant to hear. For another, you're likely to get caught. Ask somebody?Who? Make the mistake of bracing a fellow like Horst and you might windup with a sore head and an empty pocket. The best thing I could thinkof was to find a library, but that might be a job. I'd had two bad shocks on this day, but they weren't the last. In thelate afternoon, when the sun was starting to sink and a cool wind wasstarting to ripple the tree leaves, I saw the scoutship high in thesky. The dying sun colored it a deep red. Back again? I wondered whathad gone wrong. I reached down into my saddlebag and brought out my contact signal.The scoutship swung up in the sky in a familiar movement calculated todrop the stomach out of everybody aboard. George Fuhonin's style. Itriggered the signal, my heart turning flips all the while. I didn'tknow why he was back, but I wasn't really sorry. The ship swung around until it was coming back on a path almost over myhead, going in the same direction. Then it went into a slip and startedbucking so hard that I knew this wasn't hot piloting at all, just plainidiot stutter-fingered stupidity at the controls. As it skidded by meoverhead, I got a good look at it and knew that it wasn't one of ours.Not too different, but not ours. One more enigma. Where was it from? Not here. Even if you know how, andwe wouldn't tell these Mud-eaters how, a scoutship is something thattakes an advanced technology to build. <doc-sep>I felt defeated and tired. Not much farther along the road, I came toa campsite with two wagons pulled in for the night, and I couldn'thelp but pull in myself. The campsite was large and had two permanentbuildings on it. One was a well enclosure and the other was little morethan a high-walled pen. It didn't even have a roof. I set up camp and ate my dinner. In the wagon closest to me were a man,his wife and their three children. The kids were running around andplaying, and one of them ran close to the high-walled pen. His fathercame and pulled him away. The kids weren't to blame for their parents, but when one of them saidhello to me, I didn't even answer. I know how lousy I would feel if Ihad two or three brothers and sisters, but it didn't strike me untilthat moment that it wouldn't even seem out of the ordinary to thesekids. Isn't that horrible? About the time I finished eating, and before it grew dark, the old manI had seen earlier in the day drove his wagon in. He fascinated me. Hehad white hair, something I had read about in stories but had neverseen before. When nightfall came, they started a large fire. Everybody gatheredaround. There was singing for awhile, and then the father of thechildren tried to pack them off to bed. But they weren't ready to go,so the old man started telling them a story. In the old man's oddaccent, and sitting there in the campfire light surrounded by darkness,it seemed just right. It was about an old witch named Baba Yaga who lived in the forest ina house that stood on chicken legs. She was the nasty stepmother of anice little girl, and to get rid of the kid, she sent her on a phonyerrand into the deep dark woods at nightfall. I could appreciate thepoor girl's position. All the little girl had to help her were thehandkerchief, the comb and the pearl that she had inherited from herdear dead mother. But, as it turned out, they were just enough todefeat nasty old Baba Yaga and bring the girl safely home. I wished for the same for myself. The old man had just finished and they were starting to drag the kidsoff to bed when there was a commotion on the road at the edge of thecamp. I looked but my eyes were adjusted to the light of the fire and Icouldn't see far into the dark. A voice there said, I'll be damned if I'll take another day like thisone, Horst. We should have been here hours ago. It be your fault we'renot. Horst growled a retort. I decided that it was time for me to leave thecampfire. I got up and eased away as Horst and his men came up to thefire, and cut back to where Ninc was parked. I grabbed up my blanketsand mattress and started to roll them up. I had a pretty good idea nowwhat they used the high-walled pen for. I should have known that they would have to pen the animals up for thenight. I should have used my head. I hadn't and now it was time to takeleave. I never got the chance. <doc-sep>I was just heaving the saddle up on Ninc when I felt a hand on myshoulder and I was swung around. Well, well. Horst, look who we have here, he called. It was the onewho'd made the joke about me being beneath the notice of a Losel. Hewas alone with me now, but with that call the others would be up fast. I brought the saddle around as hard as I could and then up, and hewent down. He started to get up again, so I dropped the saddle on himand reached inside my jacket for my gun. Somebody grabbed me then frombehind and pinned my arms to my side. I opened my mouth to scream—I have a good scream—but a rough smellyhand clamped down over it before I had a chance to get more than alungful of air. I bit down hard—5000 lbs. psi, I'm told—but hedidn't let me go. I started to kick, but Horst jerked me off my feetand dragged me off. When we were behind the pen and out of earshot of the fire, he stoppeddragging me and dropped me in a heap. Make any noise, he said, andI'll hurt you. That was a silly way to put it, but somehow it said more than if he'dthreatened to break my arm or my head. It left him a latitude of thingsto do if he pleased. He examined his hand. There was enough moonlightfor that. I ought to club you anyway, he said. The one I'd dropped the saddle on came up then. The others were puttingthe animals in the pen. He started to kick me, but Horst stopped him. No, he said. Look through the kid's gear, bring the horse and whatwe can use. The other one didn't move. Get going, Jack, Horst said in a menacingtone and they stood toe to toe for a long moment before Jack finallybacked down. It seemed to me that Horst wasn't so much objecting to mebeing kicked, but was rather establishing who did the kicking in hisbunch. But I wasn't done yet. I was scared, but I still had the pistol undermy jacket. Horst turned back to me and I said, You can't do this and get awaywith it. He said, Look, boy. You may not know it, but you be in a lot oftrouble. So don't give me a hard time. He still thought I was a boy. It was not time to correct him, but Ididn't like to see the point go unchallenged. It was unflattering. The courts won't let you get away with this, I said. I'd passeda courthouse in the town with a carved motto over the doors: EQUALJUSTICE UNDER THE LAW or TRUTH OUR SHIELD AND JUSTICE OUR SWORD orsomething stuffy like that. He laughed, not a phony, villian-type laugh, but a real laugh, so Iknew I'd goofed. Boy, boy. Don't talk about the courts. I be doing you a favor. I betaking what I can use of your gear, but I be letting you go. You go tocourt and they'll take everything and lock you up besides. I be leavingyou your freedom. Why would they be doing that? I asked. I slipped my hand under myjacket. Every time you open your mouth you shout that you be off one of theShips, Horst said. That be enough. They already have one of you bratsin jail in Forton. I was about to bring my gun out when up came Jack leading Ninc, withall my stuff loaded on. I mentally thanked him. He said, The kid's got some good equipment. But I can't make out whatthis be for. He held out my pickup signal. Horst looked at it, then handed it back. Throw it away, he said. I leveled my gun at them—Hell on Wheels strikes again! I said, Handthat over to me. Horst made a disgusted sound. Don't make any noise, I said, or you'll fry. Now hand it over. I stowed it away, then paused with one hand on the leather horn of thesaddle. What's the name of the kid in jail in Forton. I can't remember, he said. But it be coming to me. Hold on. I waited. Then suddenly my arm was hit a numbing blow from behindand the gun went flying. Jack pounced after it and Horst said, Goodenough, to the others who'd come up behind me. I felt like a fool. Horst stalked over and got the signal. He dropped it on the ground andsaid in a voice far colder than mine could ever be, because it wasnatural and mine wasn't, The piece be yours. Then he tromped on ituntil it cracked and fell apart. Then he said, Pull a gun on me twice. Twice. He slapped me so hardthat my ears rang. You dirty little punk. I said calmly, You big louse. It was a time I would have done better to keep my mouth shut. All I canremember is a flash of pain as his fist crunched against the side of myface and then nothing. Brains are no good if you don't use them. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Horst and what is his relationship with Mia?

Horst, along with his four companions, is a man that Mia meets on the planet Tintera. He, along with his companions, were on horses and shepherding animals in front of them. Mia describes him as a middle-aged man with a large build. Mia analyzes his face and decides that she does not want to interact with him because his face looks mean. Horst, incorrectly, assumes Mia is a boy and asks her questions. Horst asserts that Mia will ride along with the men to the town of Forton. However, Mia disagrees with that statement and Horst does not like the response. Horst begins to bring out his rifle, but Mia grabs her sonic pistol before he is able to do so. She holds them at gunpoint until they drop their weapons. After this confrontation, Horst and Mia do not see each other again until they both end up at the same campsite. At the campsite, Horst and his companions bind Mia’s arms together to prevent her from escaping them. They look through her stuff and threaten her.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> BIG ANCESTOR By F. L. WALLACE Illustrated by EMSH [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction November 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Man's family tree was awesome enough to give every galactic race an inferiority complex—but then he tried to climb it! In repose, Taphetta the Ribboneer resembled a fancy giant bow on apackage. His four flat legs looped out and in, the ends tucked underhis wide, thin body, which constituted the knot at the middle. His neckwas flat, too, arching out in another loop. Of all his features, onlyhis head had appreciable thickness and it was crowned with a dozen longthough narrower ribbons. Taphetta rattled the head fronds together in a surprisingly goodimitation of speech. Yes, I've heard the legend. It's more than a legend, said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction wasnot unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenientspeculation and nothing more. There are at least a hundred kinds ofhumans, each supposedly originating in strict seclusion on as manywidely scattered planets. Obviously there was no contact throughout theages before space travel— and yet each planetary race can interbreedwith a minimum of ten others ! That's more than a legend—one hell of alot more! It is impressive, admitted Taphetta. But I find it mildlydistasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to myspecies. That's because you're unique, said Halden. Outside of your ownworld, there's nothing like your species, except superficially, andthat's true of all other creatures, intelligent or not, with the soleexception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it'saccidental, very nearly represent the biological spectrum of humandevelopment. Emmer, a Neanderthal type and our archeologist, is around thebeginning of the scale. I'm from Earth, near the middle, though onEmmer's side. Meredith, linguist, is on the other side of the middle.And beyond her, toward the far end, is Kelburn, mathematician. There'sa corresponding span of fertility. Emmer just misses being able tobreed with my kind, but there's a fair chance that I'd be fertile withMeredith and a similar though lesser chance that her fertility mayextend to Kelburn. <doc-sep>Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. But I thought it wasproved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was anunbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years. You're thinking of Earth, said Halden. Humans require a certain kindof planet. It's reasonable to assume that, if men were set down on ahundred such worlds, they'd seem to fit in with native life-forms on afew of them. That's what happened on Earth; when Man arrived, there wasactually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionistsstretched their theories to cover the facts they had. But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before theStone Age aren't related to anything else there. We have to concludethat Man didn't originate on any of the planets on which he is nowfound. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughoutthis section of the Milky Way. And so, to account for the unique race that can interbreed acrossthousands of light-years, you've brought in the big ancestor,commented Taphetta dryly. It seems an unnecessary simplification. Can you think of a better explanation? asked Kelburn. Something had to distribute one species so widely and it's not theresult of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races areinvolved, and only the human race. I can't think of a better explanation. Taphetta rearranged hisribbons. Frankly, no one else is much interested in Man's theoriesabout himself. It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerousthough not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization ashigh as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there wereothers—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever gottogether—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could bevery useful. A clear statement of their position was essential inhelping him make up his mind. You've heard of the adjacency matingprinciple? asked Sam Halden. Vaguely. Most people have if they've been around men. We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory isthat humans who can mate with each other were once physically close.We've got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetaryrace F can mate with race E back to A and forward to M, and race G isfertile only back to B, but forward to O, then we assume that whatevertheir positions are now, at once time G was actually adjacent to F, butwas a little further along. When we project back into time those starsystems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certainpattern. Kelburn can explain it to you. The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly. The colorchange was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that hewas interested. <doc-sep>Kelburn went to the projector. It would be easier if we knew all thestars in the Milky Way, but though we've explored only a small portionof it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past. He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. We'relooking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm of it as it istoday and here are the human systems. He pressed another control and,for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant.There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. The whole MilkyWay is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remaintogether, there's also a random motion. Here's what happens when wecalculate the positions of stars in the past. Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stoppedthe motion. Two hundred thousand years ago, he said. There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairlyequal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn'tclose, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed. Taphetta rustled. The math is accurate? As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem. And that's the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor? To the best of our knowledge, said Kelburn. And whereas there arehumans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always matewith those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago ! The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. Is that the only era thatsatisfies the calculations? Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get somethingthat might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover arepresentative section of territory, said Kelburn. However, we haveother ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no othermammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically.The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we've got thetime right. Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. And you think that where the twoends of the curve cross is your original home? We think so, said Kelburn. We've narrowed it down to several cubiclight-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were afast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of ourexploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding itthis trip. It seems I must decide quickly. The Ribboneer glanced out thevisionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them.Do you mind if I ask other questions? Go ahead, Kelburn invited sardonically. But if it's not math, you'dbetter ask Halden. He's the leader of the expedition. Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburnwas the most advanced human type present, but while there weredifferences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn'tas great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained inthe fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher orlower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. Andthere was the matter of training; he'd been on several expeditions andthis was Kelburn's first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated somerespect. The Ribboneer shifted his attention. Aside from the sudden illness ofyour pilot, why did you ask for me? We didn't. The man became sick and required treatment we can't givehim. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it's fourmonths to the nearest planet. They consented to take him back and toldus that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot. Wehave men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the regionwe're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer tohave an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigationalability. Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. I had otherplans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergencysuch as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what arethe incentives? Sam Halden coughed. The usual, plus a little extra. We've copied theRibboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a percent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of theprofits from any discoveries we may make. I'm complimented that you like our contract so well, said Taphetta,but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me,you'll take my contract. I came prepared. He extended a tightly boundroll that he had kept somewhere on his person. They glanced at one another as Halden took it. You can read it if you want, offered Taphetta. But it will takeyou all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid thatI'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearlyeverywhere in this sector—places men have never been. There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, theintegrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed. Good. Taphetta crinkled. Send it to the ship; they'll forward itfor me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me. He rubbed hisribbons together. Now if you'll get me the charts, I'll examine theregion toward which we're heading. <doc-sep>Firmon of hydroponics slouched in, a tall man with scanty hair andan equal lack of grace. He seemed to have difficulty in taking hiseyes off Meredith, though, since he was a notch or so above her in themating scale, he shouldn't have been so interested. But his planet hadbeen inexplicably slow in developing and he wasn't completely aware ofhis place in the human hierarchy. Disdainfully, Meredith adjusted a skirt that, a few inches shorter,wouldn't have been a skirt at all, revealing, while doing so, just howlong and beautiful a woman's legs could be. Her people had never givenmuch thought to physical modesty and, with legs like that, it was easyto see why. Muttering something about primitive women, Firmon turned to thebiologist. The pilot doesn't like our air. Then change it to suit him. He's in charge of the ship and knows moreabout these things than I do. More than a man? Firmon leered at Meredith and, when she failedto smile, added plaintively, I did try to change it, but he stillcomplains. <doc-sep>Halden took a deep breath. Seems all right to me. To everybody else, too, but the tapeworm hasn't got lungs. He breathesthrough a million tubes scattered over his body. It would do no good to explain that Taphetta wasn't a worm, that hisevolution had taken a different course, but that he was in no senseless complex than Man. It was a paradox that some biologically higherhumans hadn't developed as much as lower races and actually weren'tprepared for the multitude of life-forms they'd meet in space. Firmon'sreaction was quite typical. If he asks for cleaner air, it's because his system needs it, saidHalden. Do anything you can to give it to him. Can't. This is as good as I can get it. Taphetta thought you could dosomething about it. Hydroponics is your job. There's nothing I can do. Halden pausedthoughtfully. Is there something wrong with the plants? In a way, I guess, and yet not really. What is it, some kind of toxic condition? The plants are healthy enough, but something's chewing them down asfast as they grow. Insects? There shouldn't be any, but if there are, we've got sprays.Use them. It's an animal, said Firmon. We tried poison and got a few, but nowthey won't touch the stuff. I had electronics rig up some traps. Theanimals seem to know what they are and we've never caught one thatway. Halden glowered at the man. How long has this been going on? About three months. It's not bad; we can keep up with them. It was probably nothing to become alarmed at, but an animal on the shipwas a nuisance, doubly so because of their pilot. Tell me what you know about it, said Halden. They're little things. Firmon held out his hands to show how small.I don't know how they got on, but once they did, there were plenty ofplaces to hide. He looked up defensively. This is an old ship withnew equipment and they hide under the machinery. There's nothing we cando except rebuild the ship from the hull inward. Firmon was right. The new equipment had been installed in any placejust to get it in and now there were inaccessible corners and creviceseverywhere that couldn't be closed off without rebuilding. They couldn't set up a continuous watch and shoot the animals downbecause there weren't that many men to spare. Besides, the use ofweapons in hydroponics would cause more damage to the thing they weretrying to protect than to the pest. He'd have to devise other ways. Sam Halden got up. I'll take a look and see what I can do. I'll come along and help, said Meredith, untwining her legs andleaning against him. Your mistress ought to have some sort ofprivileges. Halden started. So she knew that the crew was calling her that!Perhaps it was intended to discourage Firmon, but he wished she hadn'tsaid it. It didn't help the situation at all. <doc-sep>Taphetta sat in a chair designed for humans. With a less flexible body,he wouldn't have fitted. Maybe it wasn't sitting, but his flat legswere folded neatly around the arms and his head rested comfortably onthe seat. The head ribbons, which were his hands and voice, were neverquite still. He looked from Halden to Emmer and back again. The hydroponics techtells me you're contemplating an experiment. I don't like it. Halden shrugged. We've got to have better air. It might work. Pests on the ship? It's filthy! My people would never tolerate it! Neither do we. The Ribboneer's distaste subsided. What kind of creatures are they? I have a description, though I've never seen one. It's a smallfour-legged animal with two antennae at the lower base of its skull. Atypical pest. Taphetta rustled. Have you found out how it got on? It was probably brought in with the supplies, said the biologist.Considering how far we've come, it may have been any one of a halfa dozen planets. Anyway, it hid, and since most of the places it hadaccess to were near the outer hull, it got an extra dose of hardradiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines; both arepossibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It'sdeveloped a tolerance for the poisons we spray on plants. Other thingsit detects and avoids, even electronic traps. Then you believe it changed mentally as well as physically, that it'ssmarter? I'd say that, yes. It must be a fairly intelligent creature to beso hard to get rid of. But it can be lured into traps, if the bait'sstrong enough. That's what I don't like, said Taphetta, curling. Let me think itover while I ask questions. He turned to Emmer. I'm curious abouthumans. Is there anything else you can tell me about the hypotheticalancestor? Emmer didn't look like the genius he was—a Neanderthal genius, butnonetheless a real one. In his field, he rated very high. He raised astubble-flecked cheek from a large thick-fingered paw and ran shaggyhands through shaggier hair. I can speak with some authority, he rumbled. I was born on a worldwith the most extensive relics. As a child, I played in the ruins oftheir camp. I don't question your authority, crinkled Taphetta. To me, allhumans—late or early and male or female—look remarkably alike. If youare an archeologist, that's enough for me. He paused and flicked hisspeech ribbons. Camp, did you say? <doc-sep>Emmer smiled, unsheathing great teeth. You've never seen any pictures?Impressive, but just a camp, monolithic one-story structures, andwe'd give something to know what they're made of. Presumably my worldwas one of the first they stopped at. They weren't used to roughingit, so they built more elaborately than they did later on. One-storystructures and that's how we can guess at their size. The doorways wereforty feet high. Very large, agreed Taphetta. It was difficult to tell whether he wasimpressed. What did you find in the ruins? Nothing, said Emmer. There were buildings there and that was all,not a scrap of writing or a tool or a single picture. They covereda route estimated at thirty thousand light-years in less than fivethousand years—and not one of them died that we have a record of. A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life, mused Taphetta.But they didn't leave any information for their descendants. Why? Who knows? Their mental processes were certainly far different fromours. They may have thought we'd be better off without it. We do knowthey were looking for a special kind of planet, like Earth, becausethey visited so many of that type, yet different from it because theynever stayed. They were pretty special people themselves, big andlong-lived, and maybe they couldn't survive on any planet they found.Perhaps they had ways of determining there wasn't the kind of planetthey needed in the entire Milky Way. Their science was tremendouslyadvanced and when they learned that, they may have altered their germplasm and left us, hoping that some of us would survive. Most of usdid. This special planet sounds strange, murmured Taphetta. Not really, said Emmer. Fifty human races reached space travelindependently and those who did were scattered equally among early andlate species. It's well known that individuals among my people areoften as bright as any of Halden's or Meredith's, but as a whole wedon't have the total capacity that later Man does, and yet we're asadvanced in civilization. The difference? It must lie somewhere in theplanets we live on and it's hard to say just what it is. What happened to those who didn't develop space travel? askedTaphetta. We helped them, said Emmer. And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically lateor early, in the depths of the bronze age or the threshold ofatomic—because they were human. That was sometimes a frightening thingfor non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actuallyaggressive, but their total number was great and they held themselvesaloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, itwas tacitly assumed, such a destiny? <doc-sep>Taphetta changed his questioning. What do you expect to gain from thisdiscovery of the unknown ancestor? It was Halden who answered him. There's the satisfaction of knowingwhere we came from. Of course, rustled the Ribboneer. But a lot of money and equipmentwas required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educationalinstitutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectualcuriosity. Cultural discoveries, rumbled Emmer. How did our ancestors live?When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more thanphysiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Thingsthat were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span. No doubt, said Taphetta. An archeologist would be interested incultural discoveries. Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advancedcivilization, added Halden. A faster-than-light drive, and we'veachieved that only within the last thousand years. But I think we have a better one than they did, said the Ribboneer.There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else? Halden nodded. Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves andproduced us. They were master biologists. I thought so, said Taphetta. I never paid much attention to yourfantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've builtup a convincing case. He raised his head, speech ribbons curlingfractionally and ceaselessly. I don't like to, but we'll have to riskusing bait for your pest. He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot'sconsent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had beenbothering him vaguely. What's the difference between the Ribboneercontract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal. To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover asmuch as you think you will. The difference is this: My terms don'tpermit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race. Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholdinganything. Halden examined his own attitudes. He hadn't intended, butcould he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquiredwould have to be shared. That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind oftechnical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that couldimprove itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a startthat could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now. <doc-sep>Why do we have to watch it on the screen? asked Meredith, glancingup. I'd rather be in hydroponics. Halden shrugged. They may or may not be smarter than planetboundanimals, but they're warier. They don't come out when anyone's near. Lights dimmed in the distant hydroponic section and the screen withit, until he adjusted the infra-red frequencies. He motioned to thetwo crew members, each with his own peculiar screen, below which was aminiature keyboard. Ready? When they nodded, Halden said: Do as you've rehearsed. Keep noise ata minimum, but when you do use it, be vague. Don't try to imitate themexactly. At first, nothing happened on the big screen, and then a gray shapecrept out. It slid through leaves, listened intently before comingforward. It jumped off one hydroponic section and fled across the openfloor to the next. It paused, eyes glittering and antennae twitching. Looking around once, it leaped up, seizing the ledge and clawing up theside of the tank. Standing on top and rising to its haunches, it begannibbling what it could reach. Suddenly it whirled. Behind it and hitherto unnoticed was anothershape, like it but larger. The newcomer inched forward. The small oneretreated, skittering nervously. Without warning, the big one leapedand the small one tried to flee. In a few jumps, the big one caught upand mauled the other unmercifully. It continued to bite even after the little one lay still. At last itbacked off and waited, watching for signs of motion. There was none.Then it turned to the plant. When it had chewed off everything withinreach, it climbed into the branches. The little one twitched, moved a leg, and cautiously began draggingitself away. It rolled off the raised section and surprisingly made nonoise as it fell. It seemed to revive, shaking itself and scurryingaway, still within range of the screen. Against the wall was a small platform. The little one climbed on topand there found something that seemed to interest it. It sniffedaround and reached and felt the discovery. Wounds were forgotten asit snatched up the object and frisked back to the scene of its recentdefeat. This time it had no trouble with the raised section. It leaped andlanded on top and made considerable noise in doing so. The big animalheard and twisted around. It saw and clambered down hastily, jumpingthe last few feet. Squealing, it hit the floor and charged. The small one stood still till the last instant—and then a pawflickered out and an inch-long knife blade plunged into the throat ofthe charging creature. Red spurted out as the bigger beast screamed.The knife flashed in and out until the big animal collapsed and stoppedmoving. The small creature removed the knife and wiped it on the pelt of itsfoe. Then it scampered back to the platform on which the knife had beenfound— and laid it down . <doc-sep>At Halden's signal, the lights flared up and the screen became toobright for anything to be visible. Go in and get them, said Halden. We don't want the pests to find outthat the bodies aren't flesh. It was realistic enough, said Meredith as the crewmen shut off theirmachines and went out. Do you think it will work? It might. We had an audience. Did we? I didn't notice. Meredith leaned back. Were the puppetsexactly like the pests? And if not, will the pests be fooled? The electronic puppets were a good imitation, but the animals don'thave to identify them as their species. If they're smart enough,they'll know the value of a knife, no matter who uses it. What if they're smarter? Suppose they know a knife can't be used by acreature without real hands? That's part of our precautions. They'll never know until they try—andthey'll never get away from the trap to try. Very good. I never thought of that, said Meredith, coming closer. Ilike the way your primitive mind works. At times I actually think ofmarrying you. Primitive, he said, alternately frozen and thawed, though he knewthat, in relation to her, he was not advanced. It's almost a curse, isn't it? She laughed and took the curse away byleaning provocatively against him. But barbaric lovers are often nice. Here we go again, he thought drearily, sliding his arm around her. Toher, I'm merely a passionate savage. They went to his cabin. She sat down, smiling. Was she pretty? Maybe. For her own race, shewasn't tall, only by Terran standards. Her legs were disproportionatelylong and well shaped and her face was somewhat bland and featureless,except for a thin, straight, short nose. It was her eyes that madethe difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visualdevelopment, her eyes were larger and she could see an extra color onthe violet end of the spectrum. She settled back and looked at him. It might be fun living with you onprimeval Earth. He said nothing; she knew as well as he that Earth was as advanced asher own world. She had something else in mind. I don't think I will, though. We might have children. Would it be wrong? he asked. I'm as intelligent as you. We wouldn'thave subhuman monsters. It would be a step up—for you. Under her calm, there was tension.It had been there as long as he'd known her, but it was closer to thesurface now. Do I have the right to condemn the unborn? Should I makethem start lower than I am? The conflict was not new nor confined to them. In one form or another,it governed personal relations between races that were united againstnon-humans, but held sharp distinctions themselves. I haven't asked you to marry me, he said bluntly. Because you're afraid I'd refuse. It was true; no one asked a member of a higher race to enter apermanent union. Why did you ever have anything to do with me? demanded Halden. Love, she said gloomily. Physical attraction. But I can't let itlead me astray. Why not make a play for Kelburn? If you're going to be scientificabout it, he'd give you children of the higher type. Kelburn. It didn't sound like a name, the way she said it. I don'tlike him and he wouldn't marry me. He wouldn't, but he'd give you children if you were humble enough.There's a fifty per cent chance you might conceive. <doc-sep>She provocatively arched her back. Not even the women of Kelburn's racehad a body like hers and she knew it. Racially, there should be a chance, she said. Actually, Kelburn andI would be infertile. Can you be sure? he asked, knowing it was a poor attempt to actunconcerned. How can anyone be sure on a theoretical basis? she asked, an obliquesmile narrowing her eyes. I know we can't. His face felt anesthetized. Did you have to tell me that? She got up and came to him. She nuzzled against him and his reactionwas purely reflexive. His hand swung out and he could feel the fleshgive when his knuckles struck it. She fell back and dazedly covered her face with her hand. When she tookit away, blood spurted. She groped toward the mirror and stood in frontof it. She wiped the blood off, examining her features carefully. You've broken my nose, she said factually. I'll have to stop theblood and pain. She pushed her nose back into place and waggled it to make sure. Sheclosed her eyes and stood silent and motionless. Then she stepped backand looked at herself critically. It's set and partially knitted. I'll concentrate tonight and have ithealed by morning. She felt in the cabinet and attached an invisible strip firmly acrossthe bridge. Then she came over to him. I wondered what you'd do. You didn't disappoint me. He scowled miserably at her. Her face was almost plain and the bandage,invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he stillfeel that attraction to her? Try Emmer, he suggested tiredly. He'll find you irresistible, andhe's even more savage than I am. Is he? She smiled enigmatically. Maybe, in a biological sense. Toomuch, though. You're just right. He sat down on the bed. Again there was only one way of knowing whatEmmer would do—and she knew. She had no concept of love outside ofthe physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—whatadvantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that,nothing mattered, and for the sake of alloying the lower with thehigher, she was as cruel to herself as she was to him. And yet hewanted her. I do think I love you, she said. And if love's enough, I may marryyou in spite of everything. But you'll have to watch out whose childrenI have. She wriggled into his arms. The racial disparity was great and she had provoked him, but it was notcompletely her fault. Besides.... Besides what? She had a beautiful body that could bear superiorchildren—and they might be his. He twisted away. With those thoughts, he was as bad as she was. Werethey all that way, every one of them, crawling upward out of the slimetoward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no, through —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward andupward. He raised his hand, but it was against himself that his angerwas turned. Careful of the nose, she said, pressing against him. You've alreadybroken it once. He kissed her with sudden passion that even he knew was primitive. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

The story starts with four of the species of the spectrum of human development together, talking and explaining about the possibility of mating with different species on the spectrum to Taphetta the Ribboneer. Emmer is an archeologist and he sits on one end of the spectrum. Halden, the biologist is from Earth, he is somewhat towards the middle on the spectrum. Meredith is a linguist, and she is further down the spectrum. And Kelburn, the mathematician, is at the far end of it. They explain to Taphetta about the theory of ability to mate with humans that are on planets that are close to each other. However, due to movement of planets, they are no longer close to each other. But with some accurate calculations, if all the stars were to go back two hundred thousand years, the position of those stars line up in the shape of a horse shoe. And they theorize that their original home lands on where the extension of the two ends of the horse shoe cross over. And the four explorers believe they have a chance of finding their original home. They are explaining this to Taphetta because they need him to be the pilot of this expedition. After Taphetta suggests that he does not like the air in the ship, they realize that some animals hs been eating the plants. With failing attempts to capture them, the biologist suggest that their mental and physical state might have changed due to radiation or atomic engines. Thus they set up a play for the animal to watch so that they will get into the trap. Meredith and Halden get into a fight because Meredith thinks Halden as primitive, and Halden does not like that. When he realizes that Meredith somehow knows she can’t be fertile with Kelburn, he gets so angry that he hits her nose. Then he come to realize why Meredith will not want to marry him and have children with him, even he would want superior children.

Who is Garrett and what happens to him in the story? [SEP] <s> BIG ANCESTOR By F. L. WALLACE Illustrated by EMSH [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction November 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Man's family tree was awesome enough to give every galactic race an inferiority complex—but then he tried to climb it! In repose, Taphetta the Ribboneer resembled a fancy giant bow on apackage. His four flat legs looped out and in, the ends tucked underhis wide, thin body, which constituted the knot at the middle. His neckwas flat, too, arching out in another loop. Of all his features, onlyhis head had appreciable thickness and it was crowned with a dozen longthough narrower ribbons. Taphetta rattled the head fronds together in a surprisingly goodimitation of speech. Yes, I've heard the legend. It's more than a legend, said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction wasnot unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenientspeculation and nothing more. There are at least a hundred kinds ofhumans, each supposedly originating in strict seclusion on as manywidely scattered planets. Obviously there was no contact throughout theages before space travel— and yet each planetary race can interbreedwith a minimum of ten others ! That's more than a legend—one hell of alot more! It is impressive, admitted Taphetta. But I find it mildlydistasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to myspecies. That's because you're unique, said Halden. Outside of your ownworld, there's nothing like your species, except superficially, andthat's true of all other creatures, intelligent or not, with the soleexception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it'saccidental, very nearly represent the biological spectrum of humandevelopment. Emmer, a Neanderthal type and our archeologist, is around thebeginning of the scale. I'm from Earth, near the middle, though onEmmer's side. Meredith, linguist, is on the other side of the middle.And beyond her, toward the far end, is Kelburn, mathematician. There'sa corresponding span of fertility. Emmer just misses being able tobreed with my kind, but there's a fair chance that I'd be fertile withMeredith and a similar though lesser chance that her fertility mayextend to Kelburn. <doc-sep>Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. But I thought it wasproved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was anunbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years. You're thinking of Earth, said Halden. Humans require a certain kindof planet. It's reasonable to assume that, if men were set down on ahundred such worlds, they'd seem to fit in with native life-forms on afew of them. That's what happened on Earth; when Man arrived, there wasactually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionistsstretched their theories to cover the facts they had. But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before theStone Age aren't related to anything else there. We have to concludethat Man didn't originate on any of the planets on which he is nowfound. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughoutthis section of the Milky Way. And so, to account for the unique race that can interbreed acrossthousands of light-years, you've brought in the big ancestor,commented Taphetta dryly. It seems an unnecessary simplification. Can you think of a better explanation? asked Kelburn. Something had to distribute one species so widely and it's not theresult of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races areinvolved, and only the human race. I can't think of a better explanation. Taphetta rearranged hisribbons. Frankly, no one else is much interested in Man's theoriesabout himself. It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerousthough not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization ashigh as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there wereothers—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever gottogether—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could bevery useful. A clear statement of their position was essential inhelping him make up his mind. You've heard of the adjacency matingprinciple? asked Sam Halden. Vaguely. Most people have if they've been around men. We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory isthat humans who can mate with each other were once physically close.We've got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetaryrace F can mate with race E back to A and forward to M, and race G isfertile only back to B, but forward to O, then we assume that whatevertheir positions are now, at once time G was actually adjacent to F, butwas a little further along. When we project back into time those starsystems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certainpattern. Kelburn can explain it to you. The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly. The colorchange was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that hewas interested. <doc-sep>Kelburn went to the projector. It would be easier if we knew all thestars in the Milky Way, but though we've explored only a small portionof it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past. He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. We'relooking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm of it as it istoday and here are the human systems. He pressed another control and,for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant.There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. The whole MilkyWay is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remaintogether, there's also a random motion. Here's what happens when wecalculate the positions of stars in the past. Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stoppedthe motion. Two hundred thousand years ago, he said. There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairlyequal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn'tclose, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed. Taphetta rustled. The math is accurate? As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem. And that's the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor? To the best of our knowledge, said Kelburn. And whereas there arehumans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always matewith those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago ! The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. Is that the only era thatsatisfies the calculations? Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get somethingthat might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover arepresentative section of territory, said Kelburn. However, we haveother ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no othermammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically.The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we've got thetime right. Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. And you think that where the twoends of the curve cross is your original home? We think so, said Kelburn. We've narrowed it down to several cubiclight-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were afast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of ourexploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding itthis trip. It seems I must decide quickly. The Ribboneer glanced out thevisionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them.Do you mind if I ask other questions? Go ahead, Kelburn invited sardonically. But if it's not math, you'dbetter ask Halden. He's the leader of the expedition. Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburnwas the most advanced human type present, but while there weredifferences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn'tas great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained inthe fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher orlower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. Andthere was the matter of training; he'd been on several expeditions andthis was Kelburn's first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated somerespect. The Ribboneer shifted his attention. Aside from the sudden illness ofyour pilot, why did you ask for me? We didn't. The man became sick and required treatment we can't givehim. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it's fourmonths to the nearest planet. They consented to take him back and toldus that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot. Wehave men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the regionwe're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer tohave an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigationalability. Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. I had otherplans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergencysuch as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what arethe incentives? Sam Halden coughed. The usual, plus a little extra. We've copied theRibboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a percent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of theprofits from any discoveries we may make. I'm complimented that you like our contract so well, said Taphetta,but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me,you'll take my contract. I came prepared. He extended a tightly boundroll that he had kept somewhere on his person. They glanced at one another as Halden took it. You can read it if you want, offered Taphetta. But it will takeyou all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid thatI'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearlyeverywhere in this sector—places men have never been. There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, theintegrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed. Good. Taphetta crinkled. Send it to the ship; they'll forward itfor me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me. He rubbed hisribbons together. Now if you'll get me the charts, I'll examine theregion toward which we're heading. <doc-sep>Firmon of hydroponics slouched in, a tall man with scanty hair andan equal lack of grace. He seemed to have difficulty in taking hiseyes off Meredith, though, since he was a notch or so above her in themating scale, he shouldn't have been so interested. But his planet hadbeen inexplicably slow in developing and he wasn't completely aware ofhis place in the human hierarchy. Disdainfully, Meredith adjusted a skirt that, a few inches shorter,wouldn't have been a skirt at all, revealing, while doing so, just howlong and beautiful a woman's legs could be. Her people had never givenmuch thought to physical modesty and, with legs like that, it was easyto see why. Muttering something about primitive women, Firmon turned to thebiologist. The pilot doesn't like our air. Then change it to suit him. He's in charge of the ship and knows moreabout these things than I do. More than a man? Firmon leered at Meredith and, when she failedto smile, added plaintively, I did try to change it, but he stillcomplains. <doc-sep>Halden took a deep breath. Seems all right to me. To everybody else, too, but the tapeworm hasn't got lungs. He breathesthrough a million tubes scattered over his body. It would do no good to explain that Taphetta wasn't a worm, that hisevolution had taken a different course, but that he was in no senseless complex than Man. It was a paradox that some biologically higherhumans hadn't developed as much as lower races and actually weren'tprepared for the multitude of life-forms they'd meet in space. Firmon'sreaction was quite typical. If he asks for cleaner air, it's because his system needs it, saidHalden. Do anything you can to give it to him. Can't. This is as good as I can get it. Taphetta thought you could dosomething about it. Hydroponics is your job. There's nothing I can do. Halden pausedthoughtfully. Is there something wrong with the plants? In a way, I guess, and yet not really. What is it, some kind of toxic condition? The plants are healthy enough, but something's chewing them down asfast as they grow. Insects? There shouldn't be any, but if there are, we've got sprays.Use them. It's an animal, said Firmon. We tried poison and got a few, but nowthey won't touch the stuff. I had electronics rig up some traps. Theanimals seem to know what they are and we've never caught one thatway. Halden glowered at the man. How long has this been going on? About three months. It's not bad; we can keep up with them. It was probably nothing to become alarmed at, but an animal on the shipwas a nuisance, doubly so because of their pilot. Tell me what you know about it, said Halden. They're little things. Firmon held out his hands to show how small.I don't know how they got on, but once they did, there were plenty ofplaces to hide. He looked up defensively. This is an old ship withnew equipment and they hide under the machinery. There's nothing we cando except rebuild the ship from the hull inward. Firmon was right. The new equipment had been installed in any placejust to get it in and now there were inaccessible corners and creviceseverywhere that couldn't be closed off without rebuilding. They couldn't set up a continuous watch and shoot the animals downbecause there weren't that many men to spare. Besides, the use ofweapons in hydroponics would cause more damage to the thing they weretrying to protect than to the pest. He'd have to devise other ways. Sam Halden got up. I'll take a look and see what I can do. I'll come along and help, said Meredith, untwining her legs andleaning against him. Your mistress ought to have some sort ofprivileges. Halden started. So she knew that the crew was calling her that!Perhaps it was intended to discourage Firmon, but he wished she hadn'tsaid it. It didn't help the situation at all. <doc-sep>Taphetta sat in a chair designed for humans. With a less flexible body,he wouldn't have fitted. Maybe it wasn't sitting, but his flat legswere folded neatly around the arms and his head rested comfortably onthe seat. The head ribbons, which were his hands and voice, were neverquite still. He looked from Halden to Emmer and back again. The hydroponics techtells me you're contemplating an experiment. I don't like it. Halden shrugged. We've got to have better air. It might work. Pests on the ship? It's filthy! My people would never tolerate it! Neither do we. The Ribboneer's distaste subsided. What kind of creatures are they? I have a description, though I've never seen one. It's a smallfour-legged animal with two antennae at the lower base of its skull. Atypical pest. Taphetta rustled. Have you found out how it got on? It was probably brought in with the supplies, said the biologist.Considering how far we've come, it may have been any one of a halfa dozen planets. Anyway, it hid, and since most of the places it hadaccess to were near the outer hull, it got an extra dose of hardradiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines; both arepossibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It'sdeveloped a tolerance for the poisons we spray on plants. Other thingsit detects and avoids, even electronic traps. Then you believe it changed mentally as well as physically, that it'ssmarter? I'd say that, yes. It must be a fairly intelligent creature to beso hard to get rid of. But it can be lured into traps, if the bait'sstrong enough. That's what I don't like, said Taphetta, curling. Let me think itover while I ask questions. He turned to Emmer. I'm curious abouthumans. Is there anything else you can tell me about the hypotheticalancestor? Emmer didn't look like the genius he was—a Neanderthal genius, butnonetheless a real one. In his field, he rated very high. He raised astubble-flecked cheek from a large thick-fingered paw and ran shaggyhands through shaggier hair. I can speak with some authority, he rumbled. I was born on a worldwith the most extensive relics. As a child, I played in the ruins oftheir camp. I don't question your authority, crinkled Taphetta. To me, allhumans—late or early and male or female—look remarkably alike. If youare an archeologist, that's enough for me. He paused and flicked hisspeech ribbons. Camp, did you say? <doc-sep>Emmer smiled, unsheathing great teeth. You've never seen any pictures?Impressive, but just a camp, monolithic one-story structures, andwe'd give something to know what they're made of. Presumably my worldwas one of the first they stopped at. They weren't used to roughingit, so they built more elaborately than they did later on. One-storystructures and that's how we can guess at their size. The doorways wereforty feet high. Very large, agreed Taphetta. It was difficult to tell whether he wasimpressed. What did you find in the ruins? Nothing, said Emmer. There were buildings there and that was all,not a scrap of writing or a tool or a single picture. They covereda route estimated at thirty thousand light-years in less than fivethousand years—and not one of them died that we have a record of. A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life, mused Taphetta.But they didn't leave any information for their descendants. Why? Who knows? Their mental processes were certainly far different fromours. They may have thought we'd be better off without it. We do knowthey were looking for a special kind of planet, like Earth, becausethey visited so many of that type, yet different from it because theynever stayed. They were pretty special people themselves, big andlong-lived, and maybe they couldn't survive on any planet they found.Perhaps they had ways of determining there wasn't the kind of planetthey needed in the entire Milky Way. Their science was tremendouslyadvanced and when they learned that, they may have altered their germplasm and left us, hoping that some of us would survive. Most of usdid. This special planet sounds strange, murmured Taphetta. Not really, said Emmer. Fifty human races reached space travelindependently and those who did were scattered equally among early andlate species. It's well known that individuals among my people areoften as bright as any of Halden's or Meredith's, but as a whole wedon't have the total capacity that later Man does, and yet we're asadvanced in civilization. The difference? It must lie somewhere in theplanets we live on and it's hard to say just what it is. What happened to those who didn't develop space travel? askedTaphetta. We helped them, said Emmer. And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically lateor early, in the depths of the bronze age or the threshold ofatomic—because they were human. That was sometimes a frightening thingfor non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actuallyaggressive, but their total number was great and they held themselvesaloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, itwas tacitly assumed, such a destiny? <doc-sep>Taphetta changed his questioning. What do you expect to gain from thisdiscovery of the unknown ancestor? It was Halden who answered him. There's the satisfaction of knowingwhere we came from. Of course, rustled the Ribboneer. But a lot of money and equipmentwas required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educationalinstitutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectualcuriosity. Cultural discoveries, rumbled Emmer. How did our ancestors live?When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more thanphysiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Thingsthat were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span. No doubt, said Taphetta. An archeologist would be interested incultural discoveries. Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advancedcivilization, added Halden. A faster-than-light drive, and we'veachieved that only within the last thousand years. But I think we have a better one than they did, said the Ribboneer.There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else? Halden nodded. Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves andproduced us. They were master biologists. I thought so, said Taphetta. I never paid much attention to yourfantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've builtup a convincing case. He raised his head, speech ribbons curlingfractionally and ceaselessly. I don't like to, but we'll have to riskusing bait for your pest. He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot'sconsent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had beenbothering him vaguely. What's the difference between the Ribboneercontract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal. To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover asmuch as you think you will. The difference is this: My terms don'tpermit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race. Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholdinganything. Halden examined his own attitudes. He hadn't intended, butcould he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquiredwould have to be shared. That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind oftechnical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that couldimprove itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a startthat could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now. <doc-sep>Why do we have to watch it on the screen? asked Meredith, glancingup. I'd rather be in hydroponics. Halden shrugged. They may or may not be smarter than planetboundanimals, but they're warier. They don't come out when anyone's near. Lights dimmed in the distant hydroponic section and the screen withit, until he adjusted the infra-red frequencies. He motioned to thetwo crew members, each with his own peculiar screen, below which was aminiature keyboard. Ready? When they nodded, Halden said: Do as you've rehearsed. Keep noise ata minimum, but when you do use it, be vague. Don't try to imitate themexactly. At first, nothing happened on the big screen, and then a gray shapecrept out. It slid through leaves, listened intently before comingforward. It jumped off one hydroponic section and fled across the openfloor to the next. It paused, eyes glittering and antennae twitching. Looking around once, it leaped up, seizing the ledge and clawing up theside of the tank. Standing on top and rising to its haunches, it begannibbling what it could reach. Suddenly it whirled. Behind it and hitherto unnoticed was anothershape, like it but larger. The newcomer inched forward. The small oneretreated, skittering nervously. Without warning, the big one leapedand the small one tried to flee. In a few jumps, the big one caught upand mauled the other unmercifully. It continued to bite even after the little one lay still. At last itbacked off and waited, watching for signs of motion. There was none.Then it turned to the plant. When it had chewed off everything withinreach, it climbed into the branches. The little one twitched, moved a leg, and cautiously began draggingitself away. It rolled off the raised section and surprisingly made nonoise as it fell. It seemed to revive, shaking itself and scurryingaway, still within range of the screen. Against the wall was a small platform. The little one climbed on topand there found something that seemed to interest it. It sniffedaround and reached and felt the discovery. Wounds were forgotten asit snatched up the object and frisked back to the scene of its recentdefeat. This time it had no trouble with the raised section. It leaped andlanded on top and made considerable noise in doing so. The big animalheard and twisted around. It saw and clambered down hastily, jumpingthe last few feet. Squealing, it hit the floor and charged. The small one stood still till the last instant—and then a pawflickered out and an inch-long knife blade plunged into the throat ofthe charging creature. Red spurted out as the bigger beast screamed.The knife flashed in and out until the big animal collapsed and stoppedmoving. The small creature removed the knife and wiped it on the pelt of itsfoe. Then it scampered back to the platform on which the knife had beenfound— and laid it down . <doc-sep>At Halden's signal, the lights flared up and the screen became toobright for anything to be visible. Go in and get them, said Halden. We don't want the pests to find outthat the bodies aren't flesh. It was realistic enough, said Meredith as the crewmen shut off theirmachines and went out. Do you think it will work? It might. We had an audience. Did we? I didn't notice. Meredith leaned back. Were the puppetsexactly like the pests? And if not, will the pests be fooled? The electronic puppets were a good imitation, but the animals don'thave to identify them as their species. If they're smart enough,they'll know the value of a knife, no matter who uses it. What if they're smarter? Suppose they know a knife can't be used by acreature without real hands? That's part of our precautions. They'll never know until they try—andthey'll never get away from the trap to try. Very good. I never thought of that, said Meredith, coming closer. Ilike the way your primitive mind works. At times I actually think ofmarrying you. Primitive, he said, alternately frozen and thawed, though he knewthat, in relation to her, he was not advanced. It's almost a curse, isn't it? She laughed and took the curse away byleaning provocatively against him. But barbaric lovers are often nice. Here we go again, he thought drearily, sliding his arm around her. Toher, I'm merely a passionate savage. They went to his cabin. She sat down, smiling. Was she pretty? Maybe. For her own race, shewasn't tall, only by Terran standards. Her legs were disproportionatelylong and well shaped and her face was somewhat bland and featureless,except for a thin, straight, short nose. It was her eyes that madethe difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visualdevelopment, her eyes were larger and she could see an extra color onthe violet end of the spectrum. She settled back and looked at him. It might be fun living with you onprimeval Earth. He said nothing; she knew as well as he that Earth was as advanced asher own world. She had something else in mind. I don't think I will, though. We might have children. Would it be wrong? he asked. I'm as intelligent as you. We wouldn'thave subhuman monsters. It would be a step up—for you. Under her calm, there was tension.It had been there as long as he'd known her, but it was closer to thesurface now. Do I have the right to condemn the unborn? Should I makethem start lower than I am? The conflict was not new nor confined to them. In one form or another,it governed personal relations between races that were united againstnon-humans, but held sharp distinctions themselves. I haven't asked you to marry me, he said bluntly. Because you're afraid I'd refuse. It was true; no one asked a member of a higher race to enter apermanent union. Why did you ever have anything to do with me? demanded Halden. Love, she said gloomily. Physical attraction. But I can't let itlead me astray. Why not make a play for Kelburn? If you're going to be scientificabout it, he'd give you children of the higher type. Kelburn. It didn't sound like a name, the way she said it. I don'tlike him and he wouldn't marry me. He wouldn't, but he'd give you children if you were humble enough.There's a fifty per cent chance you might conceive. <doc-sep>She provocatively arched her back. Not even the women of Kelburn's racehad a body like hers and she knew it. Racially, there should be a chance, she said. Actually, Kelburn andI would be infertile. Can you be sure? he asked, knowing it was a poor attempt to actunconcerned. How can anyone be sure on a theoretical basis? she asked, an obliquesmile narrowing her eyes. I know we can't. His face felt anesthetized. Did you have to tell me that? She got up and came to him. She nuzzled against him and his reactionwas purely reflexive. His hand swung out and he could feel the fleshgive when his knuckles struck it. She fell back and dazedly covered her face with her hand. When she tookit away, blood spurted. She groped toward the mirror and stood in frontof it. She wiped the blood off, examining her features carefully. You've broken my nose, she said factually. I'll have to stop theblood and pain. She pushed her nose back into place and waggled it to make sure. Sheclosed her eyes and stood silent and motionless. Then she stepped backand looked at herself critically. It's set and partially knitted. I'll concentrate tonight and have ithealed by morning. She felt in the cabinet and attached an invisible strip firmly acrossthe bridge. Then she came over to him. I wondered what you'd do. You didn't disappoint me. He scowled miserably at her. Her face was almost plain and the bandage,invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he stillfeel that attraction to her? Try Emmer, he suggested tiredly. He'll find you irresistible, andhe's even more savage than I am. Is he? She smiled enigmatically. Maybe, in a biological sense. Toomuch, though. You're just right. He sat down on the bed. Again there was only one way of knowing whatEmmer would do—and she knew. She had no concept of love outside ofthe physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—whatadvantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that,nothing mattered, and for the sake of alloying the lower with thehigher, she was as cruel to herself as she was to him. And yet hewanted her. I do think I love you, she said. And if love's enough, I may marryyou in spite of everything. But you'll have to watch out whose childrenI have. She wriggled into his arms. The racial disparity was great and she had provoked him, but it was notcompletely her fault. Besides.... Besides what? She had a beautiful body that could bear superiorchildren—and they might be his. He twisted away. With those thoughts, he was as bad as she was. Werethey all that way, every one of them, crawling upward out of the slimetoward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no, through —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward andupward. He raised his hand, but it was against himself that his angerwas turned. Careful of the nose, she said, pressing against him. You've alreadybroken it once. He kissed her with sudden passion that even he knew was primitive. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Garrett and what happens to him in the story?

Taphetta the Ribboneer was on another ship that was passing by the expedition ship. Since the pilot that was supposed to fly the expedition got very sick and needed some treatment, he was taken by the other ship, and they told the explorers that they have an experienced pilot on board. After having Taphetta on the expedition ship, they introduce themselves and explains how they are at different points on the development spectrum. However, unlike human themselves, Taphetta does not see any difference between the early and late stage of humans, they are all the same to her. Later they explain the theory of horse shoe planets, the adjacency mating principle and suggest that they are likely to find their origin planet on their trip. Taphetta is interested and asks them to take her contract. Taphetta is afraid of them holding discoveries for the benefit of one race, thus offers them his own contract. While the truth is that the explorers are not going to hold anything, no one can be sure of the institutions that support this expedition. Furthermore, Taphetta senses that something is wrong with the air, which makes them realize that there has been animals consuming the plants they grew. Despite the fact that he doesn’t want to risk bait for the pest, he is convinced.

What is the relationship between Meredith and Halden? [SEP] <s> BIG ANCESTOR By F. L. WALLACE Illustrated by EMSH [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction November 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Man's family tree was awesome enough to give every galactic race an inferiority complex—but then he tried to climb it! In repose, Taphetta the Ribboneer resembled a fancy giant bow on apackage. His four flat legs looped out and in, the ends tucked underhis wide, thin body, which constituted the knot at the middle. His neckwas flat, too, arching out in another loop. Of all his features, onlyhis head had appreciable thickness and it was crowned with a dozen longthough narrower ribbons. Taphetta rattled the head fronds together in a surprisingly goodimitation of speech. Yes, I've heard the legend. It's more than a legend, said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction wasnot unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenientspeculation and nothing more. There are at least a hundred kinds ofhumans, each supposedly originating in strict seclusion on as manywidely scattered planets. Obviously there was no contact throughout theages before space travel— and yet each planetary race can interbreedwith a minimum of ten others ! That's more than a legend—one hell of alot more! It is impressive, admitted Taphetta. But I find it mildlydistasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to myspecies. That's because you're unique, said Halden. Outside of your ownworld, there's nothing like your species, except superficially, andthat's true of all other creatures, intelligent or not, with the soleexception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it'saccidental, very nearly represent the biological spectrum of humandevelopment. Emmer, a Neanderthal type and our archeologist, is around thebeginning of the scale. I'm from Earth, near the middle, though onEmmer's side. Meredith, linguist, is on the other side of the middle.And beyond her, toward the far end, is Kelburn, mathematician. There'sa corresponding span of fertility. Emmer just misses being able tobreed with my kind, but there's a fair chance that I'd be fertile withMeredith and a similar though lesser chance that her fertility mayextend to Kelburn. <doc-sep>Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. But I thought it wasproved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was anunbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years. You're thinking of Earth, said Halden. Humans require a certain kindof planet. It's reasonable to assume that, if men were set down on ahundred such worlds, they'd seem to fit in with native life-forms on afew of them. That's what happened on Earth; when Man arrived, there wasactually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionistsstretched their theories to cover the facts they had. But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before theStone Age aren't related to anything else there. We have to concludethat Man didn't originate on any of the planets on which he is nowfound. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughoutthis section of the Milky Way. And so, to account for the unique race that can interbreed acrossthousands of light-years, you've brought in the big ancestor,commented Taphetta dryly. It seems an unnecessary simplification. Can you think of a better explanation? asked Kelburn. Something had to distribute one species so widely and it's not theresult of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races areinvolved, and only the human race. I can't think of a better explanation. Taphetta rearranged hisribbons. Frankly, no one else is much interested in Man's theoriesabout himself. It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerousthough not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization ashigh as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there wereothers—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever gottogether—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could bevery useful. A clear statement of their position was essential inhelping him make up his mind. You've heard of the adjacency matingprinciple? asked Sam Halden. Vaguely. Most people have if they've been around men. We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory isthat humans who can mate with each other were once physically close.We've got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetaryrace F can mate with race E back to A and forward to M, and race G isfertile only back to B, but forward to O, then we assume that whatevertheir positions are now, at once time G was actually adjacent to F, butwas a little further along. When we project back into time those starsystems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certainpattern. Kelburn can explain it to you. The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly. The colorchange was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that hewas interested. <doc-sep>Kelburn went to the projector. It would be easier if we knew all thestars in the Milky Way, but though we've explored only a small portionof it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past. He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. We'relooking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm of it as it istoday and here are the human systems. He pressed another control and,for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant.There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. The whole MilkyWay is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remaintogether, there's also a random motion. Here's what happens when wecalculate the positions of stars in the past. Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stoppedthe motion. Two hundred thousand years ago, he said. There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairlyequal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn'tclose, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed. Taphetta rustled. The math is accurate? As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem. And that's the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor? To the best of our knowledge, said Kelburn. And whereas there arehumans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always matewith those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago ! The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. Is that the only era thatsatisfies the calculations? Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get somethingthat might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover arepresentative section of territory, said Kelburn. However, we haveother ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no othermammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically.The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we've got thetime right. Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. And you think that where the twoends of the curve cross is your original home? We think so, said Kelburn. We've narrowed it down to several cubiclight-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were afast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of ourexploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding itthis trip. It seems I must decide quickly. The Ribboneer glanced out thevisionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them.Do you mind if I ask other questions? Go ahead, Kelburn invited sardonically. But if it's not math, you'dbetter ask Halden. He's the leader of the expedition. Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburnwas the most advanced human type present, but while there weredifferences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn'tas great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained inthe fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher orlower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. Andthere was the matter of training; he'd been on several expeditions andthis was Kelburn's first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated somerespect. The Ribboneer shifted his attention. Aside from the sudden illness ofyour pilot, why did you ask for me? We didn't. The man became sick and required treatment we can't givehim. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it's fourmonths to the nearest planet. They consented to take him back and toldus that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot. Wehave men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the regionwe're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer tohave an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigationalability. Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. I had otherplans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergencysuch as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what arethe incentives? Sam Halden coughed. The usual, plus a little extra. We've copied theRibboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a percent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of theprofits from any discoveries we may make. I'm complimented that you like our contract so well, said Taphetta,but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me,you'll take my contract. I came prepared. He extended a tightly boundroll that he had kept somewhere on his person. They glanced at one another as Halden took it. You can read it if you want, offered Taphetta. But it will takeyou all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid thatI'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearlyeverywhere in this sector—places men have never been. There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, theintegrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed. Good. Taphetta crinkled. Send it to the ship; they'll forward itfor me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me. He rubbed hisribbons together. Now if you'll get me the charts, I'll examine theregion toward which we're heading. <doc-sep>Firmon of hydroponics slouched in, a tall man with scanty hair andan equal lack of grace. He seemed to have difficulty in taking hiseyes off Meredith, though, since he was a notch or so above her in themating scale, he shouldn't have been so interested. But his planet hadbeen inexplicably slow in developing and he wasn't completely aware ofhis place in the human hierarchy. Disdainfully, Meredith adjusted a skirt that, a few inches shorter,wouldn't have been a skirt at all, revealing, while doing so, just howlong and beautiful a woman's legs could be. Her people had never givenmuch thought to physical modesty and, with legs like that, it was easyto see why. Muttering something about primitive women, Firmon turned to thebiologist. The pilot doesn't like our air. Then change it to suit him. He's in charge of the ship and knows moreabout these things than I do. More than a man? Firmon leered at Meredith and, when she failedto smile, added plaintively, I did try to change it, but he stillcomplains. <doc-sep>Halden took a deep breath. Seems all right to me. To everybody else, too, but the tapeworm hasn't got lungs. He breathesthrough a million tubes scattered over his body. It would do no good to explain that Taphetta wasn't a worm, that hisevolution had taken a different course, but that he was in no senseless complex than Man. It was a paradox that some biologically higherhumans hadn't developed as much as lower races and actually weren'tprepared for the multitude of life-forms they'd meet in space. Firmon'sreaction was quite typical. If he asks for cleaner air, it's because his system needs it, saidHalden. Do anything you can to give it to him. Can't. This is as good as I can get it. Taphetta thought you could dosomething about it. Hydroponics is your job. There's nothing I can do. Halden pausedthoughtfully. Is there something wrong with the plants? In a way, I guess, and yet not really. What is it, some kind of toxic condition? The plants are healthy enough, but something's chewing them down asfast as they grow. Insects? There shouldn't be any, but if there are, we've got sprays.Use them. It's an animal, said Firmon. We tried poison and got a few, but nowthey won't touch the stuff. I had electronics rig up some traps. Theanimals seem to know what they are and we've never caught one thatway. Halden glowered at the man. How long has this been going on? About three months. It's not bad; we can keep up with them. It was probably nothing to become alarmed at, but an animal on the shipwas a nuisance, doubly so because of their pilot. Tell me what you know about it, said Halden. They're little things. Firmon held out his hands to show how small.I don't know how they got on, but once they did, there were plenty ofplaces to hide. He looked up defensively. This is an old ship withnew equipment and they hide under the machinery. There's nothing we cando except rebuild the ship from the hull inward. Firmon was right. The new equipment had been installed in any placejust to get it in and now there were inaccessible corners and creviceseverywhere that couldn't be closed off without rebuilding. They couldn't set up a continuous watch and shoot the animals downbecause there weren't that many men to spare. Besides, the use ofweapons in hydroponics would cause more damage to the thing they weretrying to protect than to the pest. He'd have to devise other ways. Sam Halden got up. I'll take a look and see what I can do. I'll come along and help, said Meredith, untwining her legs andleaning against him. Your mistress ought to have some sort ofprivileges. Halden started. So she knew that the crew was calling her that!Perhaps it was intended to discourage Firmon, but he wished she hadn'tsaid it. It didn't help the situation at all. <doc-sep>Taphetta sat in a chair designed for humans. With a less flexible body,he wouldn't have fitted. Maybe it wasn't sitting, but his flat legswere folded neatly around the arms and his head rested comfortably onthe seat. The head ribbons, which were his hands and voice, were neverquite still. He looked from Halden to Emmer and back again. The hydroponics techtells me you're contemplating an experiment. I don't like it. Halden shrugged. We've got to have better air. It might work. Pests on the ship? It's filthy! My people would never tolerate it! Neither do we. The Ribboneer's distaste subsided. What kind of creatures are they? I have a description, though I've never seen one. It's a smallfour-legged animal with two antennae at the lower base of its skull. Atypical pest. Taphetta rustled. Have you found out how it got on? It was probably brought in with the supplies, said the biologist.Considering how far we've come, it may have been any one of a halfa dozen planets. Anyway, it hid, and since most of the places it hadaccess to were near the outer hull, it got an extra dose of hardradiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines; both arepossibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It'sdeveloped a tolerance for the poisons we spray on plants. Other thingsit detects and avoids, even electronic traps. Then you believe it changed mentally as well as physically, that it'ssmarter? I'd say that, yes. It must be a fairly intelligent creature to beso hard to get rid of. But it can be lured into traps, if the bait'sstrong enough. That's what I don't like, said Taphetta, curling. Let me think itover while I ask questions. He turned to Emmer. I'm curious abouthumans. Is there anything else you can tell me about the hypotheticalancestor? Emmer didn't look like the genius he was—a Neanderthal genius, butnonetheless a real one. In his field, he rated very high. He raised astubble-flecked cheek from a large thick-fingered paw and ran shaggyhands through shaggier hair. I can speak with some authority, he rumbled. I was born on a worldwith the most extensive relics. As a child, I played in the ruins oftheir camp. I don't question your authority, crinkled Taphetta. To me, allhumans—late or early and male or female—look remarkably alike. If youare an archeologist, that's enough for me. He paused and flicked hisspeech ribbons. Camp, did you say? <doc-sep>Emmer smiled, unsheathing great teeth. You've never seen any pictures?Impressive, but just a camp, monolithic one-story structures, andwe'd give something to know what they're made of. Presumably my worldwas one of the first they stopped at. They weren't used to roughingit, so they built more elaborately than they did later on. One-storystructures and that's how we can guess at their size. The doorways wereforty feet high. Very large, agreed Taphetta. It was difficult to tell whether he wasimpressed. What did you find in the ruins? Nothing, said Emmer. There were buildings there and that was all,not a scrap of writing or a tool or a single picture. They covereda route estimated at thirty thousand light-years in less than fivethousand years—and not one of them died that we have a record of. A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life, mused Taphetta.But they didn't leave any information for their descendants. Why? Who knows? Their mental processes were certainly far different fromours. They may have thought we'd be better off without it. We do knowthey were looking for a special kind of planet, like Earth, becausethey visited so many of that type, yet different from it because theynever stayed. They were pretty special people themselves, big andlong-lived, and maybe they couldn't survive on any planet they found.Perhaps they had ways of determining there wasn't the kind of planetthey needed in the entire Milky Way. Their science was tremendouslyadvanced and when they learned that, they may have altered their germplasm and left us, hoping that some of us would survive. Most of usdid. This special planet sounds strange, murmured Taphetta. Not really, said Emmer. Fifty human races reached space travelindependently and those who did were scattered equally among early andlate species. It's well known that individuals among my people areoften as bright as any of Halden's or Meredith's, but as a whole wedon't have the total capacity that later Man does, and yet we're asadvanced in civilization. The difference? It must lie somewhere in theplanets we live on and it's hard to say just what it is. What happened to those who didn't develop space travel? askedTaphetta. We helped them, said Emmer. And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically lateor early, in the depths of the bronze age or the threshold ofatomic—because they were human. That was sometimes a frightening thingfor non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actuallyaggressive, but their total number was great and they held themselvesaloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, itwas tacitly assumed, such a destiny? <doc-sep>Taphetta changed his questioning. What do you expect to gain from thisdiscovery of the unknown ancestor? It was Halden who answered him. There's the satisfaction of knowingwhere we came from. Of course, rustled the Ribboneer. But a lot of money and equipmentwas required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educationalinstitutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectualcuriosity. Cultural discoveries, rumbled Emmer. How did our ancestors live?When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more thanphysiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Thingsthat were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span. No doubt, said Taphetta. An archeologist would be interested incultural discoveries. Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advancedcivilization, added Halden. A faster-than-light drive, and we'veachieved that only within the last thousand years. But I think we have a better one than they did, said the Ribboneer.There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else? Halden nodded. Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves andproduced us. They were master biologists. I thought so, said Taphetta. I never paid much attention to yourfantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've builtup a convincing case. He raised his head, speech ribbons curlingfractionally and ceaselessly. I don't like to, but we'll have to riskusing bait for your pest. He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot'sconsent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had beenbothering him vaguely. What's the difference between the Ribboneercontract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal. To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover asmuch as you think you will. The difference is this: My terms don'tpermit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race. Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholdinganything. Halden examined his own attitudes. He hadn't intended, butcould he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquiredwould have to be shared. That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind oftechnical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that couldimprove itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a startthat could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now. <doc-sep>Why do we have to watch it on the screen? asked Meredith, glancingup. I'd rather be in hydroponics. Halden shrugged. They may or may not be smarter than planetboundanimals, but they're warier. They don't come out when anyone's near. Lights dimmed in the distant hydroponic section and the screen withit, until he adjusted the infra-red frequencies. He motioned to thetwo crew members, each with his own peculiar screen, below which was aminiature keyboard. Ready? When they nodded, Halden said: Do as you've rehearsed. Keep noise ata minimum, but when you do use it, be vague. Don't try to imitate themexactly. At first, nothing happened on the big screen, and then a gray shapecrept out. It slid through leaves, listened intently before comingforward. It jumped off one hydroponic section and fled across the openfloor to the next. It paused, eyes glittering and antennae twitching. Looking around once, it leaped up, seizing the ledge and clawing up theside of the tank. Standing on top and rising to its haunches, it begannibbling what it could reach. Suddenly it whirled. Behind it and hitherto unnoticed was anothershape, like it but larger. The newcomer inched forward. The small oneretreated, skittering nervously. Without warning, the big one leapedand the small one tried to flee. In a few jumps, the big one caught upand mauled the other unmercifully. It continued to bite even after the little one lay still. At last itbacked off and waited, watching for signs of motion. There was none.Then it turned to the plant. When it had chewed off everything withinreach, it climbed into the branches. The little one twitched, moved a leg, and cautiously began draggingitself away. It rolled off the raised section and surprisingly made nonoise as it fell. It seemed to revive, shaking itself and scurryingaway, still within range of the screen. Against the wall was a small platform. The little one climbed on topand there found something that seemed to interest it. It sniffedaround and reached and felt the discovery. Wounds were forgotten asit snatched up the object and frisked back to the scene of its recentdefeat. This time it had no trouble with the raised section. It leaped andlanded on top and made considerable noise in doing so. The big animalheard and twisted around. It saw and clambered down hastily, jumpingthe last few feet. Squealing, it hit the floor and charged. The small one stood still till the last instant—and then a pawflickered out and an inch-long knife blade plunged into the throat ofthe charging creature. Red spurted out as the bigger beast screamed.The knife flashed in and out until the big animal collapsed and stoppedmoving. The small creature removed the knife and wiped it on the pelt of itsfoe. Then it scampered back to the platform on which the knife had beenfound— and laid it down . <doc-sep>At Halden's signal, the lights flared up and the screen became toobright for anything to be visible. Go in and get them, said Halden. We don't want the pests to find outthat the bodies aren't flesh. It was realistic enough, said Meredith as the crewmen shut off theirmachines and went out. Do you think it will work? It might. We had an audience. Did we? I didn't notice. Meredith leaned back. Were the puppetsexactly like the pests? And if not, will the pests be fooled? The electronic puppets were a good imitation, but the animals don'thave to identify them as their species. If they're smart enough,they'll know the value of a knife, no matter who uses it. What if they're smarter? Suppose they know a knife can't be used by acreature without real hands? That's part of our precautions. They'll never know until they try—andthey'll never get away from the trap to try. Very good. I never thought of that, said Meredith, coming closer. Ilike the way your primitive mind works. At times I actually think ofmarrying you. Primitive, he said, alternately frozen and thawed, though he knewthat, in relation to her, he was not advanced. It's almost a curse, isn't it? She laughed and took the curse away byleaning provocatively against him. But barbaric lovers are often nice. Here we go again, he thought drearily, sliding his arm around her. Toher, I'm merely a passionate savage. They went to his cabin. She sat down, smiling. Was she pretty? Maybe. For her own race, shewasn't tall, only by Terran standards. Her legs were disproportionatelylong and well shaped and her face was somewhat bland and featureless,except for a thin, straight, short nose. It was her eyes that madethe difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visualdevelopment, her eyes were larger and she could see an extra color onthe violet end of the spectrum. She settled back and looked at him. It might be fun living with you onprimeval Earth. He said nothing; she knew as well as he that Earth was as advanced asher own world. She had something else in mind. I don't think I will, though. We might have children. Would it be wrong? he asked. I'm as intelligent as you. We wouldn'thave subhuman monsters. It would be a step up—for you. Under her calm, there was tension.It had been there as long as he'd known her, but it was closer to thesurface now. Do I have the right to condemn the unborn? Should I makethem start lower than I am? The conflict was not new nor confined to them. In one form or another,it governed personal relations between races that were united againstnon-humans, but held sharp distinctions themselves. I haven't asked you to marry me, he said bluntly. Because you're afraid I'd refuse. It was true; no one asked a member of a higher race to enter apermanent union. Why did you ever have anything to do with me? demanded Halden. Love, she said gloomily. Physical attraction. But I can't let itlead me astray. Why not make a play for Kelburn? If you're going to be scientificabout it, he'd give you children of the higher type. Kelburn. It didn't sound like a name, the way she said it. I don'tlike him and he wouldn't marry me. He wouldn't, but he'd give you children if you were humble enough.There's a fifty per cent chance you might conceive. <doc-sep>She provocatively arched her back. Not even the women of Kelburn's racehad a body like hers and she knew it. Racially, there should be a chance, she said. Actually, Kelburn andI would be infertile. Can you be sure? he asked, knowing it was a poor attempt to actunconcerned. How can anyone be sure on a theoretical basis? she asked, an obliquesmile narrowing her eyes. I know we can't. His face felt anesthetized. Did you have to tell me that? She got up and came to him. She nuzzled against him and his reactionwas purely reflexive. His hand swung out and he could feel the fleshgive when his knuckles struck it. She fell back and dazedly covered her face with her hand. When she tookit away, blood spurted. She groped toward the mirror and stood in frontof it. She wiped the blood off, examining her features carefully. You've broken my nose, she said factually. I'll have to stop theblood and pain. She pushed her nose back into place and waggled it to make sure. Sheclosed her eyes and stood silent and motionless. Then she stepped backand looked at herself critically. It's set and partially knitted. I'll concentrate tonight and have ithealed by morning. She felt in the cabinet and attached an invisible strip firmly acrossthe bridge. Then she came over to him. I wondered what you'd do. You didn't disappoint me. He scowled miserably at her. Her face was almost plain and the bandage,invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he stillfeel that attraction to her? Try Emmer, he suggested tiredly. He'll find you irresistible, andhe's even more savage than I am. Is he? She smiled enigmatically. Maybe, in a biological sense. Toomuch, though. You're just right. He sat down on the bed. Again there was only one way of knowing whatEmmer would do—and she knew. She had no concept of love outside ofthe physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—whatadvantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that,nothing mattered, and for the sake of alloying the lower with thehigher, she was as cruel to herself as she was to him. And yet hewanted her. I do think I love you, she said. And if love's enough, I may marryyou in spite of everything. But you'll have to watch out whose childrenI have. She wriggled into his arms. The racial disparity was great and she had provoked him, but it was notcompletely her fault. Besides.... Besides what? She had a beautiful body that could bear superiorchildren—and they might be his. He twisted away. With those thoughts, he was as bad as she was. Werethey all that way, every one of them, crawling upward out of the slimetoward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no, through —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward andupward. He raised his hand, but it was against himself that his angerwas turned. Careful of the nose, she said, pressing against him. You've alreadybroken it once. He kissed her with sudden passion that even he knew was primitive. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the relationship between Meredith and Halden?

Meredith is a linguist who sits on the middle towards end of the spectrum; Halden is a biologist that is on the middle towards beginning of the spectrum. Meredith is wearing a short skirt which gets Firmon’s unwanted attention. She is also aware of the fact that she has been called “mistress” by the ship crews. After setting the trap for the plant eating animals, Meredith complements Halden for his primitiveness and calls their love barbaric, but Halden takes it a different way. He is indeed primitive in comparison to Meredith, but he clearly does not like the sound of it. He is of the lower level, she is a step up for him. In strong constrast to Taphetta’s belief of all humans are the same disregarding where they are on the spectrum, Meredith thinks that this spectrum weights more than the amount of love between Meredith and Halden. They seem to have known this all along. Halden never asks Meredith if she wanted to marry him, nor will Meredith say yes to that. Halden doesn’t like to be thought of the lower level human, but to his surprise, Halden later realizes that he also prefers a higher level children.

What is the mission of the expedition and its theory? [SEP] <s> BIG ANCESTOR By F. L. WALLACE Illustrated by EMSH [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction November 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Man's family tree was awesome enough to give every galactic race an inferiority complex—but then he tried to climb it! In repose, Taphetta the Ribboneer resembled a fancy giant bow on apackage. His four flat legs looped out and in, the ends tucked underhis wide, thin body, which constituted the knot at the middle. His neckwas flat, too, arching out in another loop. Of all his features, onlyhis head had appreciable thickness and it was crowned with a dozen longthough narrower ribbons. Taphetta rattled the head fronds together in a surprisingly goodimitation of speech. Yes, I've heard the legend. It's more than a legend, said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction wasnot unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenientspeculation and nothing more. There are at least a hundred kinds ofhumans, each supposedly originating in strict seclusion on as manywidely scattered planets. Obviously there was no contact throughout theages before space travel— and yet each planetary race can interbreedwith a minimum of ten others ! That's more than a legend—one hell of alot more! It is impressive, admitted Taphetta. But I find it mildlydistasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to myspecies. That's because you're unique, said Halden. Outside of your ownworld, there's nothing like your species, except superficially, andthat's true of all other creatures, intelligent or not, with the soleexception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it'saccidental, very nearly represent the biological spectrum of humandevelopment. Emmer, a Neanderthal type and our archeologist, is around thebeginning of the scale. I'm from Earth, near the middle, though onEmmer's side. Meredith, linguist, is on the other side of the middle.And beyond her, toward the far end, is Kelburn, mathematician. There'sa corresponding span of fertility. Emmer just misses being able tobreed with my kind, but there's a fair chance that I'd be fertile withMeredith and a similar though lesser chance that her fertility mayextend to Kelburn. <doc-sep>Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. But I thought it wasproved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was anunbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years. You're thinking of Earth, said Halden. Humans require a certain kindof planet. It's reasonable to assume that, if men were set down on ahundred such worlds, they'd seem to fit in with native life-forms on afew of them. That's what happened on Earth; when Man arrived, there wasactually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionistsstretched their theories to cover the facts they had. But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before theStone Age aren't related to anything else there. We have to concludethat Man didn't originate on any of the planets on which he is nowfound. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughoutthis section of the Milky Way. And so, to account for the unique race that can interbreed acrossthousands of light-years, you've brought in the big ancestor,commented Taphetta dryly. It seems an unnecessary simplification. Can you think of a better explanation? asked Kelburn. Something had to distribute one species so widely and it's not theresult of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races areinvolved, and only the human race. I can't think of a better explanation. Taphetta rearranged hisribbons. Frankly, no one else is much interested in Man's theoriesabout himself. It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerousthough not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization ashigh as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there wereothers—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever gottogether—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could bevery useful. A clear statement of their position was essential inhelping him make up his mind. You've heard of the adjacency matingprinciple? asked Sam Halden. Vaguely. Most people have if they've been around men. We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory isthat humans who can mate with each other were once physically close.We've got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetaryrace F can mate with race E back to A and forward to M, and race G isfertile only back to B, but forward to O, then we assume that whatevertheir positions are now, at once time G was actually adjacent to F, butwas a little further along. When we project back into time those starsystems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certainpattern. Kelburn can explain it to you. The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly. The colorchange was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that hewas interested. <doc-sep>Kelburn went to the projector. It would be easier if we knew all thestars in the Milky Way, but though we've explored only a small portionof it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past. He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. We'relooking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm of it as it istoday and here are the human systems. He pressed another control and,for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant.There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. The whole MilkyWay is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remaintogether, there's also a random motion. Here's what happens when wecalculate the positions of stars in the past. Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stoppedthe motion. Two hundred thousand years ago, he said. There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairlyequal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn'tclose, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed. Taphetta rustled. The math is accurate? As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem. And that's the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor? To the best of our knowledge, said Kelburn. And whereas there arehumans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always matewith those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago ! The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. Is that the only era thatsatisfies the calculations? Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get somethingthat might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover arepresentative section of territory, said Kelburn. However, we haveother ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no othermammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically.The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we've got thetime right. Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. And you think that where the twoends of the curve cross is your original home? We think so, said Kelburn. We've narrowed it down to several cubiclight-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were afast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of ourexploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding itthis trip. It seems I must decide quickly. The Ribboneer glanced out thevisionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them.Do you mind if I ask other questions? Go ahead, Kelburn invited sardonically. But if it's not math, you'dbetter ask Halden. He's the leader of the expedition. Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburnwas the most advanced human type present, but while there weredifferences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn'tas great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained inthe fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher orlower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. Andthere was the matter of training; he'd been on several expeditions andthis was Kelburn's first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated somerespect. The Ribboneer shifted his attention. Aside from the sudden illness ofyour pilot, why did you ask for me? We didn't. The man became sick and required treatment we can't givehim. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it's fourmonths to the nearest planet. They consented to take him back and toldus that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot. Wehave men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the regionwe're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer tohave an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigationalability. Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. I had otherplans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergencysuch as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what arethe incentives? Sam Halden coughed. The usual, plus a little extra. We've copied theRibboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a percent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of theprofits from any discoveries we may make. I'm complimented that you like our contract so well, said Taphetta,but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me,you'll take my contract. I came prepared. He extended a tightly boundroll that he had kept somewhere on his person. They glanced at one another as Halden took it. You can read it if you want, offered Taphetta. But it will takeyou all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid thatI'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearlyeverywhere in this sector—places men have never been. There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, theintegrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed. Good. Taphetta crinkled. Send it to the ship; they'll forward itfor me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me. He rubbed hisribbons together. Now if you'll get me the charts, I'll examine theregion toward which we're heading. <doc-sep>Firmon of hydroponics slouched in, a tall man with scanty hair andan equal lack of grace. He seemed to have difficulty in taking hiseyes off Meredith, though, since he was a notch or so above her in themating scale, he shouldn't have been so interested. But his planet hadbeen inexplicably slow in developing and he wasn't completely aware ofhis place in the human hierarchy. Disdainfully, Meredith adjusted a skirt that, a few inches shorter,wouldn't have been a skirt at all, revealing, while doing so, just howlong and beautiful a woman's legs could be. Her people had never givenmuch thought to physical modesty and, with legs like that, it was easyto see why. Muttering something about primitive women, Firmon turned to thebiologist. The pilot doesn't like our air. Then change it to suit him. He's in charge of the ship and knows moreabout these things than I do. More than a man? Firmon leered at Meredith and, when she failedto smile, added plaintively, I did try to change it, but he stillcomplains. <doc-sep>Halden took a deep breath. Seems all right to me. To everybody else, too, but the tapeworm hasn't got lungs. He breathesthrough a million tubes scattered over his body. It would do no good to explain that Taphetta wasn't a worm, that hisevolution had taken a different course, but that he was in no senseless complex than Man. It was a paradox that some biologically higherhumans hadn't developed as much as lower races and actually weren'tprepared for the multitude of life-forms they'd meet in space. Firmon'sreaction was quite typical. If he asks for cleaner air, it's because his system needs it, saidHalden. Do anything you can to give it to him. Can't. This is as good as I can get it. Taphetta thought you could dosomething about it. Hydroponics is your job. There's nothing I can do. Halden pausedthoughtfully. Is there something wrong with the plants? In a way, I guess, and yet not really. What is it, some kind of toxic condition? The plants are healthy enough, but something's chewing them down asfast as they grow. Insects? There shouldn't be any, but if there are, we've got sprays.Use them. It's an animal, said Firmon. We tried poison and got a few, but nowthey won't touch the stuff. I had electronics rig up some traps. Theanimals seem to know what they are and we've never caught one thatway. Halden glowered at the man. How long has this been going on? About three months. It's not bad; we can keep up with them. It was probably nothing to become alarmed at, but an animal on the shipwas a nuisance, doubly so because of their pilot. Tell me what you know about it, said Halden. They're little things. Firmon held out his hands to show how small.I don't know how they got on, but once they did, there were plenty ofplaces to hide. He looked up defensively. This is an old ship withnew equipment and they hide under the machinery. There's nothing we cando except rebuild the ship from the hull inward. Firmon was right. The new equipment had been installed in any placejust to get it in and now there were inaccessible corners and creviceseverywhere that couldn't be closed off without rebuilding. They couldn't set up a continuous watch and shoot the animals downbecause there weren't that many men to spare. Besides, the use ofweapons in hydroponics would cause more damage to the thing they weretrying to protect than to the pest. He'd have to devise other ways. Sam Halden got up. I'll take a look and see what I can do. I'll come along and help, said Meredith, untwining her legs andleaning against him. Your mistress ought to have some sort ofprivileges. Halden started. So she knew that the crew was calling her that!Perhaps it was intended to discourage Firmon, but he wished she hadn'tsaid it. It didn't help the situation at all. <doc-sep>Taphetta sat in a chair designed for humans. With a less flexible body,he wouldn't have fitted. Maybe it wasn't sitting, but his flat legswere folded neatly around the arms and his head rested comfortably onthe seat. The head ribbons, which were his hands and voice, were neverquite still. He looked from Halden to Emmer and back again. The hydroponics techtells me you're contemplating an experiment. I don't like it. Halden shrugged. We've got to have better air. It might work. Pests on the ship? It's filthy! My people would never tolerate it! Neither do we. The Ribboneer's distaste subsided. What kind of creatures are they? I have a description, though I've never seen one. It's a smallfour-legged animal with two antennae at the lower base of its skull. Atypical pest. Taphetta rustled. Have you found out how it got on? It was probably brought in with the supplies, said the biologist.Considering how far we've come, it may have been any one of a halfa dozen planets. Anyway, it hid, and since most of the places it hadaccess to were near the outer hull, it got an extra dose of hardradiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines; both arepossibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It'sdeveloped a tolerance for the poisons we spray on plants. Other thingsit detects and avoids, even electronic traps. Then you believe it changed mentally as well as physically, that it'ssmarter? I'd say that, yes. It must be a fairly intelligent creature to beso hard to get rid of. But it can be lured into traps, if the bait'sstrong enough. That's what I don't like, said Taphetta, curling. Let me think itover while I ask questions. He turned to Emmer. I'm curious abouthumans. Is there anything else you can tell me about the hypotheticalancestor? Emmer didn't look like the genius he was—a Neanderthal genius, butnonetheless a real one. In his field, he rated very high. He raised astubble-flecked cheek from a large thick-fingered paw and ran shaggyhands through shaggier hair. I can speak with some authority, he rumbled. I was born on a worldwith the most extensive relics. As a child, I played in the ruins oftheir camp. I don't question your authority, crinkled Taphetta. To me, allhumans—late or early and male or female—look remarkably alike. If youare an archeologist, that's enough for me. He paused and flicked hisspeech ribbons. Camp, did you say? <doc-sep>Emmer smiled, unsheathing great teeth. You've never seen any pictures?Impressive, but just a camp, monolithic one-story structures, andwe'd give something to know what they're made of. Presumably my worldwas one of the first they stopped at. They weren't used to roughingit, so they built more elaborately than they did later on. One-storystructures and that's how we can guess at their size. The doorways wereforty feet high. Very large, agreed Taphetta. It was difficult to tell whether he wasimpressed. What did you find in the ruins? Nothing, said Emmer. There were buildings there and that was all,not a scrap of writing or a tool or a single picture. They covereda route estimated at thirty thousand light-years in less than fivethousand years—and not one of them died that we have a record of. A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life, mused Taphetta.But they didn't leave any information for their descendants. Why? Who knows? Their mental processes were certainly far different fromours. They may have thought we'd be better off without it. We do knowthey were looking for a special kind of planet, like Earth, becausethey visited so many of that type, yet different from it because theynever stayed. They were pretty special people themselves, big andlong-lived, and maybe they couldn't survive on any planet they found.Perhaps they had ways of determining there wasn't the kind of planetthey needed in the entire Milky Way. Their science was tremendouslyadvanced and when they learned that, they may have altered their germplasm and left us, hoping that some of us would survive. Most of usdid. This special planet sounds strange, murmured Taphetta. Not really, said Emmer. Fifty human races reached space travelindependently and those who did were scattered equally among early andlate species. It's well known that individuals among my people areoften as bright as any of Halden's or Meredith's, but as a whole wedon't have the total capacity that later Man does, and yet we're asadvanced in civilization. The difference? It must lie somewhere in theplanets we live on and it's hard to say just what it is. What happened to those who didn't develop space travel? askedTaphetta. We helped them, said Emmer. And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically lateor early, in the depths of the bronze age or the threshold ofatomic—because they were human. That was sometimes a frightening thingfor non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actuallyaggressive, but their total number was great and they held themselvesaloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, itwas tacitly assumed, such a destiny? <doc-sep>Taphetta changed his questioning. What do you expect to gain from thisdiscovery of the unknown ancestor? It was Halden who answered him. There's the satisfaction of knowingwhere we came from. Of course, rustled the Ribboneer. But a lot of money and equipmentwas required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educationalinstitutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectualcuriosity. Cultural discoveries, rumbled Emmer. How did our ancestors live?When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more thanphysiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Thingsthat were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span. No doubt, said Taphetta. An archeologist would be interested incultural discoveries. Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advancedcivilization, added Halden. A faster-than-light drive, and we'veachieved that only within the last thousand years. But I think we have a better one than they did, said the Ribboneer.There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else? Halden nodded. Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves andproduced us. They were master biologists. I thought so, said Taphetta. I never paid much attention to yourfantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've builtup a convincing case. He raised his head, speech ribbons curlingfractionally and ceaselessly. I don't like to, but we'll have to riskusing bait for your pest. He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot'sconsent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had beenbothering him vaguely. What's the difference between the Ribboneercontract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal. To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover asmuch as you think you will. The difference is this: My terms don'tpermit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race. Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholdinganything. Halden examined his own attitudes. He hadn't intended, butcould he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquiredwould have to be shared. That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind oftechnical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that couldimprove itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a startthat could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now. <doc-sep>Why do we have to watch it on the screen? asked Meredith, glancingup. I'd rather be in hydroponics. Halden shrugged. They may or may not be smarter than planetboundanimals, but they're warier. They don't come out when anyone's near. Lights dimmed in the distant hydroponic section and the screen withit, until he adjusted the infra-red frequencies. He motioned to thetwo crew members, each with his own peculiar screen, below which was aminiature keyboard. Ready? When they nodded, Halden said: Do as you've rehearsed. Keep noise ata minimum, but when you do use it, be vague. Don't try to imitate themexactly. At first, nothing happened on the big screen, and then a gray shapecrept out. It slid through leaves, listened intently before comingforward. It jumped off one hydroponic section and fled across the openfloor to the next. It paused, eyes glittering and antennae twitching. Looking around once, it leaped up, seizing the ledge and clawing up theside of the tank. Standing on top and rising to its haunches, it begannibbling what it could reach. Suddenly it whirled. Behind it and hitherto unnoticed was anothershape, like it but larger. The newcomer inched forward. The small oneretreated, skittering nervously. Without warning, the big one leapedand the small one tried to flee. In a few jumps, the big one caught upand mauled the other unmercifully. It continued to bite even after the little one lay still. At last itbacked off and waited, watching for signs of motion. There was none.Then it turned to the plant. When it had chewed off everything withinreach, it climbed into the branches. The little one twitched, moved a leg, and cautiously began draggingitself away. It rolled off the raised section and surprisingly made nonoise as it fell. It seemed to revive, shaking itself and scurryingaway, still within range of the screen. Against the wall was a small platform. The little one climbed on topand there found something that seemed to interest it. It sniffedaround and reached and felt the discovery. Wounds were forgotten asit snatched up the object and frisked back to the scene of its recentdefeat. This time it had no trouble with the raised section. It leaped andlanded on top and made considerable noise in doing so. The big animalheard and twisted around. It saw and clambered down hastily, jumpingthe last few feet. Squealing, it hit the floor and charged. The small one stood still till the last instant—and then a pawflickered out and an inch-long knife blade plunged into the throat ofthe charging creature. Red spurted out as the bigger beast screamed.The knife flashed in and out until the big animal collapsed and stoppedmoving. The small creature removed the knife and wiped it on the pelt of itsfoe. Then it scampered back to the platform on which the knife had beenfound— and laid it down . <doc-sep>At Halden's signal, the lights flared up and the screen became toobright for anything to be visible. Go in and get them, said Halden. We don't want the pests to find outthat the bodies aren't flesh. It was realistic enough, said Meredith as the crewmen shut off theirmachines and went out. Do you think it will work? It might. We had an audience. Did we? I didn't notice. Meredith leaned back. Were the puppetsexactly like the pests? And if not, will the pests be fooled? The electronic puppets were a good imitation, but the animals don'thave to identify them as their species. If they're smart enough,they'll know the value of a knife, no matter who uses it. What if they're smarter? Suppose they know a knife can't be used by acreature without real hands? That's part of our precautions. They'll never know until they try—andthey'll never get away from the trap to try. Very good. I never thought of that, said Meredith, coming closer. Ilike the way your primitive mind works. At times I actually think ofmarrying you. Primitive, he said, alternately frozen and thawed, though he knewthat, in relation to her, he was not advanced. It's almost a curse, isn't it? She laughed and took the curse away byleaning provocatively against him. But barbaric lovers are often nice. Here we go again, he thought drearily, sliding his arm around her. Toher, I'm merely a passionate savage. They went to his cabin. She sat down, smiling. Was she pretty? Maybe. For her own race, shewasn't tall, only by Terran standards. Her legs were disproportionatelylong and well shaped and her face was somewhat bland and featureless,except for a thin, straight, short nose. It was her eyes that madethe difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visualdevelopment, her eyes were larger and she could see an extra color onthe violet end of the spectrum. She settled back and looked at him. It might be fun living with you onprimeval Earth. He said nothing; she knew as well as he that Earth was as advanced asher own world. She had something else in mind. I don't think I will, though. We might have children. Would it be wrong? he asked. I'm as intelligent as you. We wouldn'thave subhuman monsters. It would be a step up—for you. Under her calm, there was tension.It had been there as long as he'd known her, but it was closer to thesurface now. Do I have the right to condemn the unborn? Should I makethem start lower than I am? The conflict was not new nor confined to them. In one form or another,it governed personal relations between races that were united againstnon-humans, but held sharp distinctions themselves. I haven't asked you to marry me, he said bluntly. Because you're afraid I'd refuse. It was true; no one asked a member of a higher race to enter apermanent union. Why did you ever have anything to do with me? demanded Halden. Love, she said gloomily. Physical attraction. But I can't let itlead me astray. Why not make a play for Kelburn? If you're going to be scientificabout it, he'd give you children of the higher type. Kelburn. It didn't sound like a name, the way she said it. I don'tlike him and he wouldn't marry me. He wouldn't, but he'd give you children if you were humble enough.There's a fifty per cent chance you might conceive. <doc-sep>She provocatively arched her back. Not even the women of Kelburn's racehad a body like hers and she knew it. Racially, there should be a chance, she said. Actually, Kelburn andI would be infertile. Can you be sure? he asked, knowing it was a poor attempt to actunconcerned. How can anyone be sure on a theoretical basis? she asked, an obliquesmile narrowing her eyes. I know we can't. His face felt anesthetized. Did you have to tell me that? She got up and came to him. She nuzzled against him and his reactionwas purely reflexive. His hand swung out and he could feel the fleshgive when his knuckles struck it. She fell back and dazedly covered her face with her hand. When she tookit away, blood spurted. She groped toward the mirror and stood in frontof it. She wiped the blood off, examining her features carefully. You've broken my nose, she said factually. I'll have to stop theblood and pain. She pushed her nose back into place and waggled it to make sure. Sheclosed her eyes and stood silent and motionless. Then she stepped backand looked at herself critically. It's set and partially knitted. I'll concentrate tonight and have ithealed by morning. She felt in the cabinet and attached an invisible strip firmly acrossthe bridge. Then she came over to him. I wondered what you'd do. You didn't disappoint me. He scowled miserably at her. Her face was almost plain and the bandage,invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he stillfeel that attraction to her? Try Emmer, he suggested tiredly. He'll find you irresistible, andhe's even more savage than I am. Is he? She smiled enigmatically. Maybe, in a biological sense. Toomuch, though. You're just right. He sat down on the bed. Again there was only one way of knowing whatEmmer would do—and she knew. She had no concept of love outside ofthe physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—whatadvantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that,nothing mattered, and for the sake of alloying the lower with thehigher, she was as cruel to herself as she was to him. And yet hewanted her. I do think I love you, she said. And if love's enough, I may marryyou in spite of everything. But you'll have to watch out whose childrenI have. She wriggled into his arms. The racial disparity was great and she had provoked him, but it was notcompletely her fault. Besides.... Besides what? She had a beautiful body that could bear superiorchildren—and they might be his. He twisted away. With those thoughts, he was as bad as she was. Werethey all that way, every one of them, crawling upward out of the slimetoward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no, through —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward andupward. He raised his hand, but it was against himself that his angerwas turned. Careful of the nose, she said, pressing against him. You've alreadybroken it once. He kissed her with sudden passion that even he knew was primitive. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the mission of the expedition and its theory?

The goal of the expedition is to find their original home. There are many different species on the human development spectrum, and it is assumed that they can only mate with the species that are close to them on the spectrum according to the adjacency mating principle. Following this principle, careful calculations are done on the orbits of those planets. By determining their location in space at different times, the team are able to find a specific time in the whole universe that not only makes the specific pattern of a horse shoe, but also has supporting data backed up this hypothesis. Furthermore, if two imaginary lines extend from the ends of the horse shoe, the two lines will eventually meet and cross over at a specific location in space. The team are able to narrow the crossing point down to a few cubic light-years. According to the team, this space should be the place that their original home is. If they are to find the planet that the hypothetical unknown ancestors belongs to, they will be making cultural discoveries, technological advances, and finding out where they actually come from.

Describe the setting of the story? [SEP] <s> BIG ANCESTOR By F. L. WALLACE Illustrated by EMSH [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction November 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Man's family tree was awesome enough to give every galactic race an inferiority complex—but then he tried to climb it! In repose, Taphetta the Ribboneer resembled a fancy giant bow on apackage. His four flat legs looped out and in, the ends tucked underhis wide, thin body, which constituted the knot at the middle. His neckwas flat, too, arching out in another loop. Of all his features, onlyhis head had appreciable thickness and it was crowned with a dozen longthough narrower ribbons. Taphetta rattled the head fronds together in a surprisingly goodimitation of speech. Yes, I've heard the legend. It's more than a legend, said Sam Halden, biologist. The reaction wasnot unexpected—non-humans tended to dismiss the data as convenientspeculation and nothing more. There are at least a hundred kinds ofhumans, each supposedly originating in strict seclusion on as manywidely scattered planets. Obviously there was no contact throughout theages before space travel— and yet each planetary race can interbreedwith a minimum of ten others ! That's more than a legend—one hell of alot more! It is impressive, admitted Taphetta. But I find it mildlydistasteful to consider mating with someone who does not belong to myspecies. That's because you're unique, said Halden. Outside of your ownworld, there's nothing like your species, except superficially, andthat's true of all other creatures, intelligent or not, with the soleexception of mankind. Actually, the four of us here, though it'saccidental, very nearly represent the biological spectrum of humandevelopment. Emmer, a Neanderthal type and our archeologist, is around thebeginning of the scale. I'm from Earth, near the middle, though onEmmer's side. Meredith, linguist, is on the other side of the middle.And beyond her, toward the far end, is Kelburn, mathematician. There'sa corresponding span of fertility. Emmer just misses being able tobreed with my kind, but there's a fair chance that I'd be fertile withMeredith and a similar though lesser chance that her fertility mayextend to Kelburn. <doc-sep>Taphetta rustled his speech ribbons quizzically. But I thought it wasproved that some humans did originate on one planet, that there was anunbroken line of evolution that could be traced back a billion years. You're thinking of Earth, said Halden. Humans require a certain kindof planet. It's reasonable to assume that, if men were set down on ahundred such worlds, they'd seem to fit in with native life-forms on afew of them. That's what happened on Earth; when Man arrived, there wasactually a manlike creature there. Naturally our early evolutionistsstretched their theories to cover the facts they had. But there are other worlds in which humans who were there before theStone Age aren't related to anything else there. We have to concludethat Man didn't originate on any of the planets on which he is nowfound. Instead, he evolved elsewhere and later was scattered throughoutthis section of the Milky Way. And so, to account for the unique race that can interbreed acrossthousands of light-years, you've brought in the big ancestor,commented Taphetta dryly. It seems an unnecessary simplification. Can you think of a better explanation? asked Kelburn. Something had to distribute one species so widely and it's not theresult of parallel evolution—not when a hundred human races areinvolved, and only the human race. I can't think of a better explanation. Taphetta rearranged hisribbons. Frankly, no one else is much interested in Man's theoriesabout himself. It was easy to understand the attitude. Man was the most numerousthough not always the most advanced—Ribboneers had a civilization ashigh as anything in the known section of the Milky Way, and there wereothers—and humans were more than a little feared. If they ever gottogether—but they hadn't except in agreement as to their common origin. Still, Taphetta the Ribboneer was an experienced pilot and could bevery useful. A clear statement of their position was essential inhelping him make up his mind. You've heard of the adjacency matingprinciple? asked Sam Halden. Vaguely. Most people have if they've been around men. We've got new data and are able to interpret it better. The theory isthat humans who can mate with each other were once physically close.We've got a list of all our races arranged in sequence. If planetaryrace F can mate with race E back to A and forward to M, and race G isfertile only back to B, but forward to O, then we assume that whatevertheir positions are now, at once time G was actually adjacent to F, butwas a little further along. When we project back into time those starsystems on which humans existed prior to space travel, we get a certainpattern. Kelburn can explain it to you. The normally pink body of the Ribboneer flushed slightly. The colorchange was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to indicate that hewas interested. <doc-sep>Kelburn went to the projector. It would be easier if we knew all thestars in the Milky Way, but though we've explored only a small portionof it, we can reconstruct a fairly accurate representation of the past. He pressed the controls and stars twinkled on the screen. We'relooking down on the plane of the Galaxy. This is one arm of it as it istoday and here are the human systems. He pressed another control and,for purposes of identification, certain stars became more brilliant.There was no pattern, merely a scattering of stars. The whole MilkyWay is rotating. And while stars in a given region tend to remaintogether, there's also a random motion. Here's what happens when wecalculate the positions of stars in the past. Flecks of light shifted and flowed across the screen. Kelburn stoppedthe motion. Two hundred thousand years ago, he said. There was a pattern of the identified stars. They were spaced at fairlyequal intervals along a regular curve, a horseshoe loop that didn'tclose, though if the ends were extended, the lines would have crossed. Taphetta rustled. The math is accurate? As accurate as it can be with a million-plus body problem. And that's the hypothetical route of the unknown ancestor? To the best of our knowledge, said Kelburn. And whereas there arehumans who are relatively near and not fertile, they can always matewith those they were adjacent to two hundred thousand years ago ! The adjacency mating principle. I've never seen it demonstrated,murmured Taphetta, flexing his ribbons. Is that the only era thatsatisfies the calculations? Plus or minus a hundred thousand years, we can still get somethingthat might be the path of a spaceship attempting to cover arepresentative section of territory, said Kelburn. However, we haveother ways of dating it. On some worlds on which there are no othermammals, we're able to place the first human fossils chronologically.The evidence is sometimes contradictory, but we believe we've got thetime right. Taphetta waved a ribbon at the chart. And you think that where the twoends of the curve cross is your original home? We think so, said Kelburn. We've narrowed it down to several cubiclight-years—then. Now it's far more. And, of course, if it were afast-moving star, it might be completely out of the field of ourexploration. But we're certain we've got a good chance of finding itthis trip. It seems I must decide quickly. The Ribboneer glanced out thevisionport, where another ship hung motionless in space beside them.Do you mind if I ask other questions? Go ahead, Kelburn invited sardonically. But if it's not math, you'dbetter ask Halden. He's the leader of the expedition. Halden flushed; the sarcasm wasn't necessary. It was true that Kelburnwas the most advanced human type present, but while there weredifferences, biological and in the scale of intelligence, it wasn'tas great as once was thought. Anyway, non-humans weren't trained inthe fine distinctions that men made among themselves. And, higher orlower, he was as good a biologist as the other was a mathematician. Andthere was the matter of training; he'd been on several expeditions andthis was Kelburn's first trip. Damn it, he thought, that rated somerespect. The Ribboneer shifted his attention. Aside from the sudden illness ofyour pilot, why did you ask for me? We didn't. The man became sick and required treatment we can't givehim. Luckily, a ship was passing and we hailed it because it's fourmonths to the nearest planet. They consented to take him back and toldus that there was a passenger on board who was an experienced pilot. Wehave men who could do the job in a makeshift fashion, but the regionwe're heading for, while mapped, is largely unknown. We'd prefer tohave an expert—and Ribboneers are famous for their navigationalability. Taphetta crinkled politely at the reference to his skill. I had otherplans, but I can't evade professional obligations, and an emergencysuch as this should cancel out any previous agreements. Still, what arethe incentives? Sam Halden coughed. The usual, plus a little extra. We've copied theRibboneer's standard nature, simplifying it a little and adding a percent here and there for the crew pilot and scientist's share of theprofits from any discoveries we may make. I'm complimented that you like our contract so well, said Taphetta,but I really must have our own unsimplified version. If you want me,you'll take my contract. I came prepared. He extended a tightly boundroll that he had kept somewhere on his person. They glanced at one another as Halden took it. You can read it if you want, offered Taphetta. But it will takeyou all day—it's micro-printing. However, you needn't be afraid thatI'm defrauding you. It's honored everywhere we go and we go nearlyeverywhere in this sector—places men have never been. There was no choice if they wanted him, and they did. Besides, theintegrity of Ribboneers was not to be questioned. Halden signed. Good. Taphetta crinkled. Send it to the ship; they'll forward itfor me. And you can tell the ship to go on without me. He rubbed hisribbons together. Now if you'll get me the charts, I'll examine theregion toward which we're heading. <doc-sep>Firmon of hydroponics slouched in, a tall man with scanty hair andan equal lack of grace. He seemed to have difficulty in taking hiseyes off Meredith, though, since he was a notch or so above her in themating scale, he shouldn't have been so interested. But his planet hadbeen inexplicably slow in developing and he wasn't completely aware ofhis place in the human hierarchy. Disdainfully, Meredith adjusted a skirt that, a few inches shorter,wouldn't have been a skirt at all, revealing, while doing so, just howlong and beautiful a woman's legs could be. Her people had never givenmuch thought to physical modesty and, with legs like that, it was easyto see why. Muttering something about primitive women, Firmon turned to thebiologist. The pilot doesn't like our air. Then change it to suit him. He's in charge of the ship and knows moreabout these things than I do. More than a man? Firmon leered at Meredith and, when she failedto smile, added plaintively, I did try to change it, but he stillcomplains. <doc-sep>Halden took a deep breath. Seems all right to me. To everybody else, too, but the tapeworm hasn't got lungs. He breathesthrough a million tubes scattered over his body. It would do no good to explain that Taphetta wasn't a worm, that hisevolution had taken a different course, but that he was in no senseless complex than Man. It was a paradox that some biologically higherhumans hadn't developed as much as lower races and actually weren'tprepared for the multitude of life-forms they'd meet in space. Firmon'sreaction was quite typical. If he asks for cleaner air, it's because his system needs it, saidHalden. Do anything you can to give it to him. Can't. This is as good as I can get it. Taphetta thought you could dosomething about it. Hydroponics is your job. There's nothing I can do. Halden pausedthoughtfully. Is there something wrong with the plants? In a way, I guess, and yet not really. What is it, some kind of toxic condition? The plants are healthy enough, but something's chewing them down asfast as they grow. Insects? There shouldn't be any, but if there are, we've got sprays.Use them. It's an animal, said Firmon. We tried poison and got a few, but nowthey won't touch the stuff. I had electronics rig up some traps. Theanimals seem to know what they are and we've never caught one thatway. Halden glowered at the man. How long has this been going on? About three months. It's not bad; we can keep up with them. It was probably nothing to become alarmed at, but an animal on the shipwas a nuisance, doubly so because of their pilot. Tell me what you know about it, said Halden. They're little things. Firmon held out his hands to show how small.I don't know how they got on, but once they did, there were plenty ofplaces to hide. He looked up defensively. This is an old ship withnew equipment and they hide under the machinery. There's nothing we cando except rebuild the ship from the hull inward. Firmon was right. The new equipment had been installed in any placejust to get it in and now there were inaccessible corners and creviceseverywhere that couldn't be closed off without rebuilding. They couldn't set up a continuous watch and shoot the animals downbecause there weren't that many men to spare. Besides, the use ofweapons in hydroponics would cause more damage to the thing they weretrying to protect than to the pest. He'd have to devise other ways. Sam Halden got up. I'll take a look and see what I can do. I'll come along and help, said Meredith, untwining her legs andleaning against him. Your mistress ought to have some sort ofprivileges. Halden started. So she knew that the crew was calling her that!Perhaps it was intended to discourage Firmon, but he wished she hadn'tsaid it. It didn't help the situation at all. <doc-sep>Taphetta sat in a chair designed for humans. With a less flexible body,he wouldn't have fitted. Maybe it wasn't sitting, but his flat legswere folded neatly around the arms and his head rested comfortably onthe seat. The head ribbons, which were his hands and voice, were neverquite still. He looked from Halden to Emmer and back again. The hydroponics techtells me you're contemplating an experiment. I don't like it. Halden shrugged. We've got to have better air. It might work. Pests on the ship? It's filthy! My people would never tolerate it! Neither do we. The Ribboneer's distaste subsided. What kind of creatures are they? I have a description, though I've never seen one. It's a smallfour-legged animal with two antennae at the lower base of its skull. Atypical pest. Taphetta rustled. Have you found out how it got on? It was probably brought in with the supplies, said the biologist.Considering how far we've come, it may have been any one of a halfa dozen planets. Anyway, it hid, and since most of the places it hadaccess to were near the outer hull, it got an extra dose of hardradiation, or it may have nested near the atomic engines; both arepossibilities. Either way, it mutated, became a different animal. It'sdeveloped a tolerance for the poisons we spray on plants. Other thingsit detects and avoids, even electronic traps. Then you believe it changed mentally as well as physically, that it'ssmarter? I'd say that, yes. It must be a fairly intelligent creature to beso hard to get rid of. But it can be lured into traps, if the bait'sstrong enough. That's what I don't like, said Taphetta, curling. Let me think itover while I ask questions. He turned to Emmer. I'm curious abouthumans. Is there anything else you can tell me about the hypotheticalancestor? Emmer didn't look like the genius he was—a Neanderthal genius, butnonetheless a real one. In his field, he rated very high. He raised astubble-flecked cheek from a large thick-fingered paw and ran shaggyhands through shaggier hair. I can speak with some authority, he rumbled. I was born on a worldwith the most extensive relics. As a child, I played in the ruins oftheir camp. I don't question your authority, crinkled Taphetta. To me, allhumans—late or early and male or female—look remarkably alike. If youare an archeologist, that's enough for me. He paused and flicked hisspeech ribbons. Camp, did you say? <doc-sep>Emmer smiled, unsheathing great teeth. You've never seen any pictures?Impressive, but just a camp, monolithic one-story structures, andwe'd give something to know what they're made of. Presumably my worldwas one of the first they stopped at. They weren't used to roughingit, so they built more elaborately than they did later on. One-storystructures and that's how we can guess at their size. The doorways wereforty feet high. Very large, agreed Taphetta. It was difficult to tell whether he wasimpressed. What did you find in the ruins? Nothing, said Emmer. There were buildings there and that was all,not a scrap of writing or a tool or a single picture. They covereda route estimated at thirty thousand light-years in less than fivethousand years—and not one of them died that we have a record of. A faster-than-light drive and an extremely long life, mused Taphetta.But they didn't leave any information for their descendants. Why? Who knows? Their mental processes were certainly far different fromours. They may have thought we'd be better off without it. We do knowthey were looking for a special kind of planet, like Earth, becausethey visited so many of that type, yet different from it because theynever stayed. They were pretty special people themselves, big andlong-lived, and maybe they couldn't survive on any planet they found.Perhaps they had ways of determining there wasn't the kind of planetthey needed in the entire Milky Way. Their science was tremendouslyadvanced and when they learned that, they may have altered their germplasm and left us, hoping that some of us would survive. Most of usdid. This special planet sounds strange, murmured Taphetta. Not really, said Emmer. Fifty human races reached space travelindependently and those who did were scattered equally among early andlate species. It's well known that individuals among my people areoften as bright as any of Halden's or Meredith's, but as a whole wedon't have the total capacity that later Man does, and yet we're asadvanced in civilization. The difference? It must lie somewhere in theplanets we live on and it's hard to say just what it is. What happened to those who didn't develop space travel? askedTaphetta. We helped them, said Emmer. And they had, no matter who or what they were, biologically lateor early, in the depths of the bronze age or the threshold ofatomic—because they were human. That was sometimes a frightening thingfor non-humans, that the race stuck together. They weren't actuallyaggressive, but their total number was great and they held themselvesaloof. The unknown ancestor again. Who else had such an origin and, itwas tacitly assumed, such a destiny? <doc-sep>Taphetta changed his questioning. What do you expect to gain from thisdiscovery of the unknown ancestor? It was Halden who answered him. There's the satisfaction of knowingwhere we came from. Of course, rustled the Ribboneer. But a lot of money and equipmentwas required for this expedition. I can't believe that the educationalinstitutions that are backing you did so purely out of intellectualcuriosity. Cultural discoveries, rumbled Emmer. How did our ancestors live?When a creature is greatly reduced in size, as we are, more thanphysiology is changed—the pattern of life itself is altered. Thingsthat were easy for them are impossible for us. Look at their life span. No doubt, said Taphetta. An archeologist would be interested incultural discoveries. Two hundred thousand years ago, they had an extremely advancedcivilization, added Halden. A faster-than-light drive, and we'veachieved that only within the last thousand years. But I think we have a better one than they did, said the Ribboneer.There may be things we can learn from them in mechanics or physics,but wouldn't you say they were better biologists than anything else? Halden nodded. Agreed. They couldn't find a suitable planet. So,working directly with their germ plasm, they modified themselves andproduced us. They were master biologists. I thought so, said Taphetta. I never paid much attention to yourfantastic theories before I signed to pilot this ship, but you've builtup a convincing case. He raised his head, speech ribbons curlingfractionally and ceaselessly. I don't like to, but we'll have to riskusing bait for your pest. He'd have done it anyway, but it was better to have the pilot'sconsent. And there was one question Halden wanted to ask; it had beenbothering him vaguely. What's the difference between the Ribboneercontract and the one we offered you? Our terms are more liberal. To the individual, they are, but it won't matter if you discover asmuch as you think you will. The difference is this: My terms don'tpermit you to withhold any discovery for the benefit of one race. Taphetta was wrong; there had been no intention of withholdinganything. Halden examined his own attitudes. He hadn't intended, butcould he say that was true of the institutions backing the expedition?He couldn't, and it was too late now—whatever knowledge they acquiredwould have to be shared. That was what Taphetta had been afraid of—there was one kind oftechnical advancement that multiplied unceasingly. The race that couldimprove itself through scientific control of its germ plasm had a startthat could never be headed. The Ribboneer needn't worry now. <doc-sep>Why do we have to watch it on the screen? asked Meredith, glancingup. I'd rather be in hydroponics. Halden shrugged. They may or may not be smarter than planetboundanimals, but they're warier. They don't come out when anyone's near. Lights dimmed in the distant hydroponic section and the screen withit, until he adjusted the infra-red frequencies. He motioned to thetwo crew members, each with his own peculiar screen, below which was aminiature keyboard. Ready? When they nodded, Halden said: Do as you've rehearsed. Keep noise ata minimum, but when you do use it, be vague. Don't try to imitate themexactly. At first, nothing happened on the big screen, and then a gray shapecrept out. It slid through leaves, listened intently before comingforward. It jumped off one hydroponic section and fled across the openfloor to the next. It paused, eyes glittering and antennae twitching. Looking around once, it leaped up, seizing the ledge and clawing up theside of the tank. Standing on top and rising to its haunches, it begannibbling what it could reach. Suddenly it whirled. Behind it and hitherto unnoticed was anothershape, like it but larger. The newcomer inched forward. The small oneretreated, skittering nervously. Without warning, the big one leapedand the small one tried to flee. In a few jumps, the big one caught upand mauled the other unmercifully. It continued to bite even after the little one lay still. At last itbacked off and waited, watching for signs of motion. There was none.Then it turned to the plant. When it had chewed off everything withinreach, it climbed into the branches. The little one twitched, moved a leg, and cautiously began draggingitself away. It rolled off the raised section and surprisingly made nonoise as it fell. It seemed to revive, shaking itself and scurryingaway, still within range of the screen. Against the wall was a small platform. The little one climbed on topand there found something that seemed to interest it. It sniffedaround and reached and felt the discovery. Wounds were forgotten asit snatched up the object and frisked back to the scene of its recentdefeat. This time it had no trouble with the raised section. It leaped andlanded on top and made considerable noise in doing so. The big animalheard and twisted around. It saw and clambered down hastily, jumpingthe last few feet. Squealing, it hit the floor and charged. The small one stood still till the last instant—and then a pawflickered out and an inch-long knife blade plunged into the throat ofthe charging creature. Red spurted out as the bigger beast screamed.The knife flashed in and out until the big animal collapsed and stoppedmoving. The small creature removed the knife and wiped it on the pelt of itsfoe. Then it scampered back to the platform on which the knife had beenfound— and laid it down . <doc-sep>At Halden's signal, the lights flared up and the screen became toobright for anything to be visible. Go in and get them, said Halden. We don't want the pests to find outthat the bodies aren't flesh. It was realistic enough, said Meredith as the crewmen shut off theirmachines and went out. Do you think it will work? It might. We had an audience. Did we? I didn't notice. Meredith leaned back. Were the puppetsexactly like the pests? And if not, will the pests be fooled? The electronic puppets were a good imitation, but the animals don'thave to identify them as their species. If they're smart enough,they'll know the value of a knife, no matter who uses it. What if they're smarter? Suppose they know a knife can't be used by acreature without real hands? That's part of our precautions. They'll never know until they try—andthey'll never get away from the trap to try. Very good. I never thought of that, said Meredith, coming closer. Ilike the way your primitive mind works. At times I actually think ofmarrying you. Primitive, he said, alternately frozen and thawed, though he knewthat, in relation to her, he was not advanced. It's almost a curse, isn't it? She laughed and took the curse away byleaning provocatively against him. But barbaric lovers are often nice. Here we go again, he thought drearily, sliding his arm around her. Toher, I'm merely a passionate savage. They went to his cabin. She sat down, smiling. Was she pretty? Maybe. For her own race, shewasn't tall, only by Terran standards. Her legs were disproportionatelylong and well shaped and her face was somewhat bland and featureless,except for a thin, straight, short nose. It was her eyes that madethe difference, he decided. A notch or two up the scale of visualdevelopment, her eyes were larger and she could see an extra color onthe violet end of the spectrum. She settled back and looked at him. It might be fun living with you onprimeval Earth. He said nothing; she knew as well as he that Earth was as advanced asher own world. She had something else in mind. I don't think I will, though. We might have children. Would it be wrong? he asked. I'm as intelligent as you. We wouldn'thave subhuman monsters. It would be a step up—for you. Under her calm, there was tension.It had been there as long as he'd known her, but it was closer to thesurface now. Do I have the right to condemn the unborn? Should I makethem start lower than I am? The conflict was not new nor confined to them. In one form or another,it governed personal relations between races that were united againstnon-humans, but held sharp distinctions themselves. I haven't asked you to marry me, he said bluntly. Because you're afraid I'd refuse. It was true; no one asked a member of a higher race to enter apermanent union. Why did you ever have anything to do with me? demanded Halden. Love, she said gloomily. Physical attraction. But I can't let itlead me astray. Why not make a play for Kelburn? If you're going to be scientificabout it, he'd give you children of the higher type. Kelburn. It didn't sound like a name, the way she said it. I don'tlike him and he wouldn't marry me. He wouldn't, but he'd give you children if you were humble enough.There's a fifty per cent chance you might conceive. <doc-sep>She provocatively arched her back. Not even the women of Kelburn's racehad a body like hers and she knew it. Racially, there should be a chance, she said. Actually, Kelburn andI would be infertile. Can you be sure? he asked, knowing it was a poor attempt to actunconcerned. How can anyone be sure on a theoretical basis? she asked, an obliquesmile narrowing her eyes. I know we can't. His face felt anesthetized. Did you have to tell me that? She got up and came to him. She nuzzled against him and his reactionwas purely reflexive. His hand swung out and he could feel the fleshgive when his knuckles struck it. She fell back and dazedly covered her face with her hand. When she tookit away, blood spurted. She groped toward the mirror and stood in frontof it. She wiped the blood off, examining her features carefully. You've broken my nose, she said factually. I'll have to stop theblood and pain. She pushed her nose back into place and waggled it to make sure. Sheclosed her eyes and stood silent and motionless. Then she stepped backand looked at herself critically. It's set and partially knitted. I'll concentrate tonight and have ithealed by morning. She felt in the cabinet and attached an invisible strip firmly acrossthe bridge. Then she came over to him. I wondered what you'd do. You didn't disappoint me. He scowled miserably at her. Her face was almost plain and the bandage,invisible or not, didn't improve her appearance any. How could he stillfeel that attraction to her? Try Emmer, he suggested tiredly. He'll find you irresistible, andhe's even more savage than I am. Is he? She smiled enigmatically. Maybe, in a biological sense. Toomuch, though. You're just right. He sat down on the bed. Again there was only one way of knowing whatEmmer would do—and she knew. She had no concept of love outside ofthe physical, to make use of her body so as to gain an advantage—whatadvantage?—for the children she intended to have. Outside of that,nothing mattered, and for the sake of alloying the lower with thehigher, she was as cruel to herself as she was to him. And yet hewanted her. I do think I love you, she said. And if love's enough, I may marryyou in spite of everything. But you'll have to watch out whose childrenI have. She wriggled into his arms. The racial disparity was great and she had provoked him, but it was notcompletely her fault. Besides.... Besides what? She had a beautiful body that could bear superiorchildren—and they might be his. He twisted away. With those thoughts, he was as bad as she was. Werethey all that way, every one of them, crawling upward out of the slimetoward the highest goal they could conceive of? Climbing over—no, through —everybody they could coerce, seduce or marry—onward andupward. He raised his hand, but it was against himself that his angerwas turned. Careful of the nose, she said, pressing against him. You've alreadybroken it once. He kissed her with sudden passion that even he knew was primitive. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story?

The story is set in a space ship of an expedition with the goal of finding human’s original home. The universe has many species of human beings at different development levels, and four of them are on board of the ship. They seem to believe that there is a planet of origin, where they evolved. They assume that later, they were brought from the original planet to the planets they now live on. There was another ship that passed the expedition ship, which allow the explorers to send their pilot home since he is sick. They learn that there is a Ribboneer on that ship. The Ribboneer is a pilot and has been to some expeditions. Thus, the team want to have him on board and be the pilot of their ship. Hence, they start to explain about their theories in trying to find out about human race and their origin. The Ribboneer is interested and decides to join the team. Later, they notice that the plants are being eaten by some animals. Thus they put on a show at the hydroponics to trick the animals. Later, we follow Halden and Meredith to Halden’s cabin where they have an argument over the level of development they have and Halden punches Meredith’s nose. Then, the story ends with the two of them in Halden’s room.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>Knof Llud, the Quest III's captain, came slowly down the narrowstair from the observatory, into the big rotunda that was now the mainrecreation room, where most of the people gathered. The great chamber,a full cross-section of the vessel, had been at first a fuel hold. Atthe voyage's beginning eighty per cent of the fifteen-hundred-footcylinder had been engines and fuel; but as the immense stores werespent and the holds became radioactively safe, the crew had spreadout from its original cramped quarters. Now the interstellar ship waslittle more than a hollow shell. Eyes lifted from the vision screens to interrogate Knof Llud; he metthem with an impassive countenance, and announced quietly, We'vesighted Earth. A feverish buzz arose; the captain gestured for silence and went on,It is still only a featureless disk to the telescope. Zost Relyul hasidentified it—no more. But this time the clamor was not to be settled. People pressed roundthe screens, peering into them as if with the naked eye they couldpick out the atom of reflected light that was Earth, home. They wrungeach other's hands, kissed, shouted, wept. For the present their fearswere forgotten and exaltation prevailed. Knof Llud smiled wryly. The rest of the little speech he had been aboutto make didn't matter anyway, and it might have spoiled this moment. He turned to go, and was halted by the sight of his wife, standing athis elbow. His wry smile took on warmth; he asked, How do you feel,Lesra? She drew an uncertain breath and released it in a faint sigh. I don'tknow. It's good that Earth's still there. She was thinking, he judgedshrewdly, of Knof Jr. and Delza, who save from pictures could notremember sunlit skies or grassy fields or woods in summer.... He said, with a touch of tolerant amusement, What did you think mighthave happened to Earth? After all, it's only been nine hundred years. That's just it, said Lesra shakily. Nine hundred years have goneby— there —and nothing will be the same. It won't be the same worldwe left, the world we knew and fitted in.... The captain put an arm round her with comforting pressure. Don'tworry. Things may have changed—but we'll manage. But his face hadhardened against registering the gnawing of that same doubtful fearwithin him. He let his arm fall. I'd better get up to the bridge.There's a new course to be set now—for Earth. He left her and began to climb the stairway again. Someone switchedoff the lights, and a charmed whisper ran through the big room as thepeople saw each other's faces by the pale golden light of Earth's ownSun, mirrored and multiplied by the screens. In that light Lesra's eyesgleamed with unshed tears. Captain Llud found Navigator Gwar Den looking as smug as the catthat ate the canary. Gwar Den was finding that the actual observedpositions of the planets thus far located agreed quite closely withhis extrapolations from long unused charts of the Solar System. He hadalready set up on the calculator a course that would carry them toEarth. Llud nodded curt approval, remarking, Probably we'll be interceptedbefore we get that far. Den was jolted out of his happy abstraction. Uh, Captain, he saidhesitantly. What kind of a reception do you suppose we'll get? Llud shook his head slowly. Who knows? We don't know whether anyof the other Quests returned successful, or if they returned atall. And we don't know what changes have taken place on Earth. It'spossible—not likely, though—that something has happened to breakcivilization's continuity to the point where our expedition has beenforgotten altogether. <doc-sep>He turned away grim-lipped and left the bridge. From his privateoffice-cabin, he sent a message to Chief Astronomer Zost Relyul tonotify him as soon as Earth's surface features became clear; then hesat idle, alone with his thoughts. The ship's automatic mechanisms had scant need of tending; Knof Lludfound himself wishing that he could find some back-breaking task foreveryone on board, himself included, to fill up the hours that remained. There was an extensive and well-chosen film library in the cabin, buthe couldn't persuade himself to kill time that way. He could go downand watch the screens, or to the family apartment where he might findLesra and the children—but somehow he didn't want to do that either. He felt empty, drained—like his ship. As the Quest III's fuel storesand the hope of success in man's mightiest venture had dwindled, so thestrength had gone out of him. Now the last fuel compartment was almostempty and Captain Knof Llud felt tired and old. Perhaps, he thought, he was feeling the weight of his nine hundredEarth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years olderthan when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along thetime axis of a space ship approaching the speed of light. Weeks andmonths had passed for the Quest III in interstellar flight whileyears and decades had raced by on the home world. Bemusedly Llud got to his feet and stood surveying a cabinet withbuilt-in voice recorder and pigeonholes for records. There were aboutthree dozen film spools there—his personal memoirs of the greatexpedition, a segment of his life and of history. He might add that tothe ship's official log and its collections of scientific data, as areport to whatever powers might be on Earth now—if such powers werestill interested. Llud selected a spool from among the earliest. It was one he had madeshortly after leaving Procyon, end of the first leg of the trip. Heslid it onto the reproducer. His own voice came from the speaker, fresher, more vibrant andconfident than he knew it was now. One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's timesince leaving Earth. Our visit to Procyon drew a blank. There is only one huge planet, twicethe size of Jupiter, and like Jupiter utterly unfit to support a colony. Our hopes were dashed—and I think all of us, even remembering theCentaurus Expedition's failure, hoped more than we cared to admit. IfProcyon had possessed a habitable planet, we could have returned afteran absence of not much over twenty years Earth time. It is cheering to note that the crew seems only more resolute. We goon to Capella; its spectrum, so like our own Sun's, beckons. If successcomes there, a century will have passed before we can return to Earth;friends, relatives, all the generation that launched the Quest shipswill be long since dead. Nevertheless we go on. Our generation's dream,humanity's dream, lives in us and in the ship forever.... Presently Knof Llud switched off that younger voice of his and leanedback, an ironic smile touching his lips. That fervent idealism seemedremote and foreign to him now. The fanfares of departure must stillhave been ringing in his ears. He rose, slipped the record back in its niche and picked out another,later, one. One week since we passed close enough to Aldebaran to ascertain thatthat system, too, is devoid of planets. We face the unpleasant realization that what was feared is probablytrue—that worlds such as the Sun's are a rare accident, and that wemay complete our search without finding even one new Earth. It makes no difference, of course; we cannot betray the plan....This may be man's last chance of escaping his pitiful limitation toone world in all the Universe. Certainly the building of this shipand its two sisters, the immense expenditure of time and labor andenergy stores that went into them, left Earth's economy drained andexhausted. Only once in a long age does mankind rise to such a selflessand transcendent effort—the effort of Egypt that built the pyramids,or the war efforts of the nations in the last great conflicts of thetwentieth century. Looked at historically, such super-human outbursts of energy arethe result of a population's outgrowing its room and resources, andtherefore signalize the beginning of the end. Population can belimited, but the price is a deadly frustration, because growth alone islife.... In our day the end of man's room for growth on the Earth wasin sight—so we launched the Quests . Perhaps our effort will prove asfutile as pyramid-building, less practical than orgies of slaughter toreduce pressure.... In any case, it would be impossible to transportvery many people to other stars; but Earth could at least go intoits decline with the knowledge that its race went onward and upward,expanding limitlessly into the Universe.... Hopeless, unless we find planets! <doc-sep>Knof Llud shook his head sorrowfully and took off the spool. Thatwas from the time when he had grown philosophical after the firstdisappointments. He frowned thoughtfully, choosing one more spool that was only fouryears old. The recorded voice sounded weary, yet alive with a strangelonging.... We are in the heart of Pleiades; a hundred stars show brilliant onthe screens, each star encircled by a misty halo like lights glowingthrough fog, for we are traversing a vast diffuse nebula. According to plan, the Quest III has reached its furthest point fromEarth. Now we turn back along a curve that will take us past many morestars and stellar systems—but hope is small that any of those willprove a home for man, as have none of the thousands of stars examinedalready. But what are a few thousand stars in a galaxy of billions? We haveonly, as it were, visited a handful of the outlying villages of theUniverse, while the lights of its great cities still blaze far aheadalong the Milky Way. On flimsy excuses I have had Zost Relyul make observations of theglobular cluster Omega Centauri. There are a hundred thousand starsthere in a volume of space where one finds a few dozen in the Sun'sneighborhood; there if anywhere must circle the planets we seek! ButOmega Centauri is twenty thousand light years away.... Even so—by expending its remaining fuel freely, the Quest III couldachieve a velocity that would take us there without dying of senilityof aging too greatly. It would be a one-way journey—even if enoughfuel remained, there would be little point in returning to Earth aftermore than forty thousand years. By then our civilization certainly, andperhaps the human race itself, would have perished from memory. That was why the planners limited our voyage, and those of the other Quests , to less than a thousand years Earth time. Even now, accordingto the sociodynamic predictions made then, our civilization—if theother expeditions failed also—will have reached a dangerously unstablephase, and before we can get back it may have collapsed completely fromoverpopulation. Why go back, then with the news of our failure? Why not forget aboutEarth and go on to Omega Centauri? What use is quixotic loyalty to adecree five thousand years old, whose makers are dead and which may beforgotten back there? Would the crew be willing? I don't know—some of them still show signsof homesickness, though they know with their minds that everything thatwas once 'home' has probably been swept away.... It doesn't matter. Today I gave orders to swing the ship. Savagely Knof Llud stabbed the button that shut off the speaker. Thenhe sat for a time with head resting in his hands, staring into nothing. The memory of that fierce impulse to go on still had power to shakehim. A couple of lines of poetry came into his head, as he read themonce in translation from the ancient English.... ... for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. <doc-sep>Llud sighed. He still couldn't say just why he had given the order toturn back. The stars had claimed his heart—but he was still a part ofEarth, and not even nine hundred years of space and time had been ableto alter that. He wondered if there would still be a quiet stream and a greenshady place beside it where a death-weary man, relieved at last ofresponsibility, could rest and dream no more.... Those things wenton, if men didn't change them. And a pine forest where he and youngKnof could go camping, and lie on their backs at night and gaze at theglittering constellations, far away, out of reach.... He wasn't sure hewould want to do that, though. Suddenly a faint cushioned jar went through the great ship; it seemedto falter one moment in flight. <doc-sep>The captain was on his feet instantly, but then his movements becameunhurried. Whatever it had been was past, and he had a good ideawhat it had been—a meteoroid, nothing unusual in the vicinity ofthe Sun, though in interstellar space and around planetless starssuch collisions were rare to the vanishing point. No harm could havebeen done. The Quest III's collision armor was nonmaterial and forpractical purposes invulnerable. Just as he took his finger off the button that opened the door, theintercommunication phone shrilled imperatively. Knof Llud wheeled,frowning—surely a meteoroid impact wasn't that serious. Coincidence,maybe—it might be Zost Relyul calling as instructed. He reached the phone at the moment when another, heavier jolt shookthe vessel. Llud snatched up the receiver with the speed of a scaldedcat. Captain? It was Gwar Den's voice, stammering a little. Captain,we're being attacked! Sound the alarm. Emergency stations. He had said it automatically,then felt a curious detached relief at the knowledge that after allthese years he could still respond quickly and smoothly to a crisis.There was a moment's silence, and he heard the alarm start—threeshort buzzes and repeat, ringing through all the great length of theinterstellar ship. Knowing that Gwar Den was still there, he said,Now—attacked by what? Ships, said Gwar Den helplessly. Five of them so far. No, there's asixth now. Repeated blows quivered the Quest III's framework. Thenavigator said, obviously striving for calm, They're light craft, notfifty feet long, but they move fast. The detectors hardly had time toshow them before they opened up. Can't get a telescope beam on themlong enough to tell much. If they're that small, said Knof Llud deliberately, they can't carryanything heavy enough to hurt us. Hold to course. I'll be right up. In the open doorway he almost fell over his son. Young Knof's eyes werebig; he had heard his father's words. Something's happened, he judged with deadly twelve-year-oldseriousness and, without wasting time on questions, Can I go with you,huh, Dad? Llud hesitated, said, All right. Come along and keep out of the way.He headed for the bridge with strides that the boy could not match. There were people running in the corridors, heading for their posts.Their faces were set, scared, uncomprehending. The Quest III shuddered, again and again, under blows that must have had millionsof horsepower behind them; but it plunged on toward Earth, its mightyengines still steadily braking its interstellar velocity. To a man, the ship's responsible officers were already on the bridge,most of them breathless. To a man they looked appeal at Captain KnofLlud. Well? he snapped. What are they doing? Gwar Den spoke. There are thirteen of them out there now, sir, andthey're all banging away at us. The captain stared into the black star-strewn depths of a vision screenwhere occasional blue points of light winked ominously, never twicefrom the same position. Knof Jr. flattened himself against the metal wall and watched silently.His young face was less anxious than his elders'; he had confidence inhis father. If they had anything heavier, surmised the captain, they'd haveunlimbered it by now. They're out to get us. But at this rate, theycan't touch us as long as our power lasts—or until they bring up somebigger stuff. <doc-sep>The mild shocks went on—whether from projectiles or energy-charges,would be hard to find out and it didn't matter; whatever was hittingthe Quest III's shell was doing it at velocities where thedistinction between matter and radiation practically ceases to exist. But that shell was tough. It was an extension of the gravitic drivefield which transmitted the engines' power equally to every atom ofthe ship; forces impinging on the outside of the field were similarlytransmitted and rendered harmless. The effect was as if the vessel andall space inside its field were a single perfectly elastic body. Ameteoroid, for example, on striking it rebounded—usually vaporized bythe impact—and the ship, in obedience to the law of equal and oppositeforces, rebounded too, but since its mass was so much greater, itsdeflection was negligible. The people in the Quest III would have felt nothing at all ofthe vicious onslaught being hurled against them, save that theirinertialess drive, at its normal thrust of two hundred gravities,was intentionally operated at one half of one per cent efficiency toprovide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. One of the officers said shakily, It's as if they've been lying inwait for us. But why on Earth— That, said the captain grimly, is what we have to find out. Why—onEarth. At least, I suspect the answer's there. The Quest III bored steadily on through space, decelerating. Even ifone were no fatalist, there seemed no reason to stop decelerating orchange course. There was nowhere else to go and too little fuel leftif there had been; come what might, this was journey's end—perhapsin a more violent and final way than had been anticipated. All aroundwheeled the pigmy enemies, circling, maneuvering, and attacking,always attacking, with the senseless fury of maddened hornets. Theinterstellar ship bore no offensive weapons—but suddenly on one of thevision screens a speck of light flared into nova-brilliance, dazzlingthe watchers for the brief moment in which its very atoms were tornapart. Knof Jr. whooped ecstatically and then subsided warily, but no one waspaying attention to him. The men on the Quest III's bridge lookedquestions at each other, as the thought of help from outside flashedinto many minds at once. But Captain Llud said soberly, It must havecaught one of their own shots, reflected. Maybe its own, if it scoredtoo direct a hit. He studied the data so far gathered. A few blurred pictures had beengot, which showed cylindrical space ships much like the Quest III ,except that they were rocket-propelled and of far lesser size. Theirsize was hard to ascertain, because you needed to know their distanceand speed—but detector-beam echoes gave the distance, and likewise, bythe Doppler method, the velocity of directly receding or approachingships. It was apparent that the enemy vessels were even smaller thanGwar Den had at first supposed—not large enough to hold even one man.Tiny, deadly hornets with a colossal sting. Robot craft, no doubt, said Knof Llud, but a chill ran down his spineas it occurred to him that perhaps the attackers weren't of humanorigin. They had seen no recognizable life in the part of the galaxythey had explored, but one of the other Quests might have encounteredand been traced home by some unhuman race that was greedy and able toconquer. <doc-sep>It became evident, too, that the bombardment was being kept up by aconstant arrival of fresh attackers, while others raced away intospace, presumably returning to base to replenish their ammunition. Thatargued a planned and prepared interception with virulent hatred behindit. Elsuz Llug, the gravitic engineer, calculated dismally, At the ratewe're having to shed energy, the fuel will be gone in six or eighthours. We'll have reached Earth before then, Gwar Den said hopefully. If they don't bring out the heavy artillery first. We're under the psychological disadvantage, said the captain, of notknowing why we're being attacked. Knof Jr. burst out, spluttering slightly with the violence of athought too important to suppress, But we're under a ps-psychologicaladvantage, too! His father raised an eyebrow. What's that? I don't seem to havenoticed it. They're mad and we aren't, yet, said the boy. Then, seeing that hehadn't made himself clear, In a fight, if a guy gets mad he startsswinging wild and then you nail him. Smiles splintered the ice of tension. Captain Llud said, Maybe you'vegot something there. They seem to be mad, all right. But we're not ina position to throw any punches. He turned back to the others. As Iwas going to say—I think we'd better try to parley with the enemy. Atleast we may find out who he is and why he's determined to smash us. And now instead of tight-beam detectors the ship was broadcasting on anaudio carrier wave that shifted through a wide range of frequencies,repeating on each the same brief recorded message: Who are you? What do you want? We are the interstellar expedition Quest III .... And so on, identifying themselves and protesting thatthey were unarmed and peaceful, that there must be some mistake, andquerying again, Who are you ? There was no answer. The ship drove on, its fuel trickling away undermultiplied demands. Those outside were squandering vastly greateramounts of energy in the effort to batter down its defenses, butconverting that energy into harmless gravitic impulses was costing the Quest III too. Once more Knof Llud had the insidious sense of his ownnerves and muscles and will weakening along with the power-sinews ofhis ship. Zost Relyul approached him apologetically. If you have time,Captain—I've got some data on Earth now. Eagerly Llud took the sheaf of photographs made with the telescope. Butthey told him nothing; only the continental outlines were clear, andthose were as they had been nine hundred years ago.... He looked upinquiringly at Zost Relyul. There are some strange features, said the astronomer carefully.First of all—there are no lights on the night side. And on thedaylight face, our highest magnification should already reveal tracesof cities, canals, and the like—but it does not. The prevailing color of the land masses, you see, is the normalgreen vegetation. But the diffraction spectrum is queer. It indicatesreflecting surfaces less than one-tenth millimeter wide—so thevegetation there can't be trees or grass, but must be more like a finemoss or even a coarse mold. Is that all? demanded Llud. Isn't it enough? said Zost Relyul blankly. Well—we triedphotography by invisible light, of course. The infra-red shows nothingand likewise the ultraviolet up to the point where the atmosphere isopaque to it. The captain sighed wearily. Good work, he said. Keep it up; perhapsyou can answer some of these riddles before— We know who you are , interrupted a harshly crackling voice with astrange accent, and pleading will do you no good. <doc-sep>Knof Llud whirled to the radio apparatus, his weariness dropping fromhim once more. He snapped, But who are you? and the words blendedabsurdly with the same words in his own voice on the still repeatingtape. He snapped off the record; as he did so the speaker, still cracklingwith space static, said, It may interest you to know that you are thelast. The two other interstellar expeditions that went out have alreadyreturned and been destroyed, as you will soon be—the sooner, if youcontinue toward Earth. Knof Llud's mind was clicking again. The voice—which must be comingfrom Earth, relayed by one of the midget ships—was not very smart; ithad already involuntarily told him a couple of things—that it was notas sure of itself as it sounded he deduced from the fact it had deignedto speak at all, and from its last remark he gathered that the QuestIII's ponderous and unswerving progress toward Earth had somehowfrightened it. So it was trying to frighten them. He shoved those facts back for future use. Just now he had to knowsomething, so vitally that he asked it as a bald question, Are youhuman? The voice chuckled sourly. We are human, it answered, but you arenot. The captain was momentarily silent, groping for an adequate reply.Behind him somebody made a choked noise, the only sound in the stunnedhush, and the ship jarred slightly as a thunderbolt slammed vengefullyinto its field. Suppose we settle this argument about humanity, said Knof Lludwoodenly. He named a vision frequency. Very well. The tone was like a shrug. The voice went on in itslanguage that was quite intelligible, but alien-sounding with thechanges that nine hundred years had wrought. Perhaps, if you realizeyour position, you will follow the intelligent example of the QuestI's commander. Knof Llud stiffened. The Quest I , launched toward Arcturus and thestar cloud called Berenice's Hair, had been after the Quest III themost hopeful of the expeditions—and its captain had been a good friendof Llud's, nine hundred years ago.... He growled, What happened tohim? He fought off our interceptors, which are around you now, for sometime, said the voice lightly. When he saw that it was hopeless, hepreferred suicide to defeat, and took his ship into the Sun. A shortpause. The vision connection is ready. Knof Llud switched on the screen at the named wavelength, and apicture formed there. The face and figure that appeared were ugly,but undeniably a man's. His features and his light-brown skin showedthe same racial characteristics possessed by those aboard the QuestIII , but he had an elusive look of deformity. Most obviously, his headseemed too big for his body, and his eyes in turn too big for his head. He grinned nastily at Knof Llud. Have you any other last wishes? Yes, said Llud with icy control. You haven't answered one question.Why do you want to kill us? You can see we're as human as you are. The big-headed man eyed him with a speculative look in his greateyes, behind which the captain glimpsed the flickering raw fire of apoisonous hatred. It is enough for you to know that you must die. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

A spaceship named Quest III is moving towards a color-changing star, but this time it is the Sun. The crew is excited, their journey is coming to its end and they are coming home. The captain says they have sighted Earth. Talking burst out happily, the captain's wife is anxious about nothing being the same after nine hundred years on Earth, while it was only ten for the crew in space. The course to Earth is set and the whole crew is filled with anticipation. The captain can't find how to kill time and delves into upsetting thoughts about the failure of the venture. The captain rewatches his record from the beginning of the voyage. It shows his hopes fading with every new planet proving unfit for settlement and the Earth years increasing rapidly and frighteningly. By then, the captain had an idea of going to Omega Centauri without returning to Earth, as this planet was more than forty thousand years away from Earth. The reasoning was that the captain didn't want to bring news of a failure to Earth, but eventually he decided to return no matter what. Back to reality, the captain starts thinking about his awaiting future on Earth, when a jar goes through the ship. Very soon the captain calms down, considering a meteoroid to be the reason, but a call informs him the ship is attacked by other ships. The captain rushes up joined by his son, the whole crew is panicking. The ship is not harmed though and still landing, as there is no other place for it to go. The attack seems well-planned and the crew broadcasts an audio wave, asking the attackers who they are and introducing themselves. There is no answer and Zost, a crew member, traces no lights or urban features on Earth, even no trees or grass are detected. Suddenly, a strange voice acknowledges that the other two ships were destroyed, and Quest III will be as well if it continues towards Earth. The captain learns out soon that the voice simply tries to frighten them and is not that confident, and is told that Quest I preferred suicide to defeat and went into the Sun. The vision connection happens and the man on the other side avoids the question why, proclaiming that the Quest III's crew must die.

How does the captain feel about the voyage and return? [SEP] <s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>Knof Llud, the Quest III's captain, came slowly down the narrowstair from the observatory, into the big rotunda that was now the mainrecreation room, where most of the people gathered. The great chamber,a full cross-section of the vessel, had been at first a fuel hold. Atthe voyage's beginning eighty per cent of the fifteen-hundred-footcylinder had been engines and fuel; but as the immense stores werespent and the holds became radioactively safe, the crew had spreadout from its original cramped quarters. Now the interstellar ship waslittle more than a hollow shell. Eyes lifted from the vision screens to interrogate Knof Llud; he metthem with an impassive countenance, and announced quietly, We'vesighted Earth. A feverish buzz arose; the captain gestured for silence and went on,It is still only a featureless disk to the telescope. Zost Relyul hasidentified it—no more. But this time the clamor was not to be settled. People pressed roundthe screens, peering into them as if with the naked eye they couldpick out the atom of reflected light that was Earth, home. They wrungeach other's hands, kissed, shouted, wept. For the present their fearswere forgotten and exaltation prevailed. Knof Llud smiled wryly. The rest of the little speech he had been aboutto make didn't matter anyway, and it might have spoiled this moment. He turned to go, and was halted by the sight of his wife, standing athis elbow. His wry smile took on warmth; he asked, How do you feel,Lesra? She drew an uncertain breath and released it in a faint sigh. I don'tknow. It's good that Earth's still there. She was thinking, he judgedshrewdly, of Knof Jr. and Delza, who save from pictures could notremember sunlit skies or grassy fields or woods in summer.... He said, with a touch of tolerant amusement, What did you think mighthave happened to Earth? After all, it's only been nine hundred years. That's just it, said Lesra shakily. Nine hundred years have goneby— there —and nothing will be the same. It won't be the same worldwe left, the world we knew and fitted in.... The captain put an arm round her with comforting pressure. Don'tworry. Things may have changed—but we'll manage. But his face hadhardened against registering the gnawing of that same doubtful fearwithin him. He let his arm fall. I'd better get up to the bridge.There's a new course to be set now—for Earth. He left her and began to climb the stairway again. Someone switchedoff the lights, and a charmed whisper ran through the big room as thepeople saw each other's faces by the pale golden light of Earth's ownSun, mirrored and multiplied by the screens. In that light Lesra's eyesgleamed with unshed tears. Captain Llud found Navigator Gwar Den looking as smug as the catthat ate the canary. Gwar Den was finding that the actual observedpositions of the planets thus far located agreed quite closely withhis extrapolations from long unused charts of the Solar System. He hadalready set up on the calculator a course that would carry them toEarth. Llud nodded curt approval, remarking, Probably we'll be interceptedbefore we get that far. Den was jolted out of his happy abstraction. Uh, Captain, he saidhesitantly. What kind of a reception do you suppose we'll get? Llud shook his head slowly. Who knows? We don't know whether anyof the other Quests returned successful, or if they returned atall. And we don't know what changes have taken place on Earth. It'spossible—not likely, though—that something has happened to breakcivilization's continuity to the point where our expedition has beenforgotten altogether. <doc-sep>He turned away grim-lipped and left the bridge. From his privateoffice-cabin, he sent a message to Chief Astronomer Zost Relyul tonotify him as soon as Earth's surface features became clear; then hesat idle, alone with his thoughts. The ship's automatic mechanisms had scant need of tending; Knof Lludfound himself wishing that he could find some back-breaking task foreveryone on board, himself included, to fill up the hours that remained. There was an extensive and well-chosen film library in the cabin, buthe couldn't persuade himself to kill time that way. He could go downand watch the screens, or to the family apartment where he might findLesra and the children—but somehow he didn't want to do that either. He felt empty, drained—like his ship. As the Quest III's fuel storesand the hope of success in man's mightiest venture had dwindled, so thestrength had gone out of him. Now the last fuel compartment was almostempty and Captain Knof Llud felt tired and old. Perhaps, he thought, he was feeling the weight of his nine hundredEarth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years olderthan when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along thetime axis of a space ship approaching the speed of light. Weeks andmonths had passed for the Quest III in interstellar flight whileyears and decades had raced by on the home world. Bemusedly Llud got to his feet and stood surveying a cabinet withbuilt-in voice recorder and pigeonholes for records. There were aboutthree dozen film spools there—his personal memoirs of the greatexpedition, a segment of his life and of history. He might add that tothe ship's official log and its collections of scientific data, as areport to whatever powers might be on Earth now—if such powers werestill interested. Llud selected a spool from among the earliest. It was one he had madeshortly after leaving Procyon, end of the first leg of the trip. Heslid it onto the reproducer. His own voice came from the speaker, fresher, more vibrant andconfident than he knew it was now. One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's timesince leaving Earth. Our visit to Procyon drew a blank. There is only one huge planet, twicethe size of Jupiter, and like Jupiter utterly unfit to support a colony. Our hopes were dashed—and I think all of us, even remembering theCentaurus Expedition's failure, hoped more than we cared to admit. IfProcyon had possessed a habitable planet, we could have returned afteran absence of not much over twenty years Earth time. It is cheering to note that the crew seems only more resolute. We goon to Capella; its spectrum, so like our own Sun's, beckons. If successcomes there, a century will have passed before we can return to Earth;friends, relatives, all the generation that launched the Quest shipswill be long since dead. Nevertheless we go on. Our generation's dream,humanity's dream, lives in us and in the ship forever.... Presently Knof Llud switched off that younger voice of his and leanedback, an ironic smile touching his lips. That fervent idealism seemedremote and foreign to him now. The fanfares of departure must stillhave been ringing in his ears. He rose, slipped the record back in its niche and picked out another,later, one. One week since we passed close enough to Aldebaran to ascertain thatthat system, too, is devoid of planets. We face the unpleasant realization that what was feared is probablytrue—that worlds such as the Sun's are a rare accident, and that wemay complete our search without finding even one new Earth. It makes no difference, of course; we cannot betray the plan....This may be man's last chance of escaping his pitiful limitation toone world in all the Universe. Certainly the building of this shipand its two sisters, the immense expenditure of time and labor andenergy stores that went into them, left Earth's economy drained andexhausted. Only once in a long age does mankind rise to such a selflessand transcendent effort—the effort of Egypt that built the pyramids,or the war efforts of the nations in the last great conflicts of thetwentieth century. Looked at historically, such super-human outbursts of energy arethe result of a population's outgrowing its room and resources, andtherefore signalize the beginning of the end. Population can belimited, but the price is a deadly frustration, because growth alone islife.... In our day the end of man's room for growth on the Earth wasin sight—so we launched the Quests . Perhaps our effort will prove asfutile as pyramid-building, less practical than orgies of slaughter toreduce pressure.... In any case, it would be impossible to transportvery many people to other stars; but Earth could at least go intoits decline with the knowledge that its race went onward and upward,expanding limitlessly into the Universe.... Hopeless, unless we find planets! <doc-sep>Knof Llud shook his head sorrowfully and took off the spool. Thatwas from the time when he had grown philosophical after the firstdisappointments. He frowned thoughtfully, choosing one more spool that was only fouryears old. The recorded voice sounded weary, yet alive with a strangelonging.... We are in the heart of Pleiades; a hundred stars show brilliant onthe screens, each star encircled by a misty halo like lights glowingthrough fog, for we are traversing a vast diffuse nebula. According to plan, the Quest III has reached its furthest point fromEarth. Now we turn back along a curve that will take us past many morestars and stellar systems—but hope is small that any of those willprove a home for man, as have none of the thousands of stars examinedalready. But what are a few thousand stars in a galaxy of billions? We haveonly, as it were, visited a handful of the outlying villages of theUniverse, while the lights of its great cities still blaze far aheadalong the Milky Way. On flimsy excuses I have had Zost Relyul make observations of theglobular cluster Omega Centauri. There are a hundred thousand starsthere in a volume of space where one finds a few dozen in the Sun'sneighborhood; there if anywhere must circle the planets we seek! ButOmega Centauri is twenty thousand light years away.... Even so—by expending its remaining fuel freely, the Quest III couldachieve a velocity that would take us there without dying of senilityof aging too greatly. It would be a one-way journey—even if enoughfuel remained, there would be little point in returning to Earth aftermore than forty thousand years. By then our civilization certainly, andperhaps the human race itself, would have perished from memory. That was why the planners limited our voyage, and those of the other Quests , to less than a thousand years Earth time. Even now, accordingto the sociodynamic predictions made then, our civilization—if theother expeditions failed also—will have reached a dangerously unstablephase, and before we can get back it may have collapsed completely fromoverpopulation. Why go back, then with the news of our failure? Why not forget aboutEarth and go on to Omega Centauri? What use is quixotic loyalty to adecree five thousand years old, whose makers are dead and which may beforgotten back there? Would the crew be willing? I don't know—some of them still show signsof homesickness, though they know with their minds that everything thatwas once 'home' has probably been swept away.... It doesn't matter. Today I gave orders to swing the ship. Savagely Knof Llud stabbed the button that shut off the speaker. Thenhe sat for a time with head resting in his hands, staring into nothing. The memory of that fierce impulse to go on still had power to shakehim. A couple of lines of poetry came into his head, as he read themonce in translation from the ancient English.... ... for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. <doc-sep>Llud sighed. He still couldn't say just why he had given the order toturn back. The stars had claimed his heart—but he was still a part ofEarth, and not even nine hundred years of space and time had been ableto alter that. He wondered if there would still be a quiet stream and a greenshady place beside it where a death-weary man, relieved at last ofresponsibility, could rest and dream no more.... Those things wenton, if men didn't change them. And a pine forest where he and youngKnof could go camping, and lie on their backs at night and gaze at theglittering constellations, far away, out of reach.... He wasn't sure hewould want to do that, though. Suddenly a faint cushioned jar went through the great ship; it seemedto falter one moment in flight. <doc-sep>The captain was on his feet instantly, but then his movements becameunhurried. Whatever it had been was past, and he had a good ideawhat it had been—a meteoroid, nothing unusual in the vicinity ofthe Sun, though in interstellar space and around planetless starssuch collisions were rare to the vanishing point. No harm could havebeen done. The Quest III's collision armor was nonmaterial and forpractical purposes invulnerable. Just as he took his finger off the button that opened the door, theintercommunication phone shrilled imperatively. Knof Llud wheeled,frowning—surely a meteoroid impact wasn't that serious. Coincidence,maybe—it might be Zost Relyul calling as instructed. He reached the phone at the moment when another, heavier jolt shookthe vessel. Llud snatched up the receiver with the speed of a scaldedcat. Captain? It was Gwar Den's voice, stammering a little. Captain,we're being attacked! Sound the alarm. Emergency stations. He had said it automatically,then felt a curious detached relief at the knowledge that after allthese years he could still respond quickly and smoothly to a crisis.There was a moment's silence, and he heard the alarm start—threeshort buzzes and repeat, ringing through all the great length of theinterstellar ship. Knowing that Gwar Den was still there, he said,Now—attacked by what? Ships, said Gwar Den helplessly. Five of them so far. No, there's asixth now. Repeated blows quivered the Quest III's framework. Thenavigator said, obviously striving for calm, They're light craft, notfifty feet long, but they move fast. The detectors hardly had time toshow them before they opened up. Can't get a telescope beam on themlong enough to tell much. If they're that small, said Knof Llud deliberately, they can't carryanything heavy enough to hurt us. Hold to course. I'll be right up. In the open doorway he almost fell over his son. Young Knof's eyes werebig; he had heard his father's words. Something's happened, he judged with deadly twelve-year-oldseriousness and, without wasting time on questions, Can I go with you,huh, Dad? Llud hesitated, said, All right. Come along and keep out of the way.He headed for the bridge with strides that the boy could not match. There were people running in the corridors, heading for their posts.Their faces were set, scared, uncomprehending. The Quest III shuddered, again and again, under blows that must have had millionsof horsepower behind them; but it plunged on toward Earth, its mightyengines still steadily braking its interstellar velocity. To a man, the ship's responsible officers were already on the bridge,most of them breathless. To a man they looked appeal at Captain KnofLlud. Well? he snapped. What are they doing? Gwar Den spoke. There are thirteen of them out there now, sir, andthey're all banging away at us. The captain stared into the black star-strewn depths of a vision screenwhere occasional blue points of light winked ominously, never twicefrom the same position. Knof Jr. flattened himself against the metal wall and watched silently.His young face was less anxious than his elders'; he had confidence inhis father. If they had anything heavier, surmised the captain, they'd haveunlimbered it by now. They're out to get us. But at this rate, theycan't touch us as long as our power lasts—or until they bring up somebigger stuff. <doc-sep>The mild shocks went on—whether from projectiles or energy-charges,would be hard to find out and it didn't matter; whatever was hittingthe Quest III's shell was doing it at velocities where thedistinction between matter and radiation practically ceases to exist. But that shell was tough. It was an extension of the gravitic drivefield which transmitted the engines' power equally to every atom ofthe ship; forces impinging on the outside of the field were similarlytransmitted and rendered harmless. The effect was as if the vessel andall space inside its field were a single perfectly elastic body. Ameteoroid, for example, on striking it rebounded—usually vaporized bythe impact—and the ship, in obedience to the law of equal and oppositeforces, rebounded too, but since its mass was so much greater, itsdeflection was negligible. The people in the Quest III would have felt nothing at all ofthe vicious onslaught being hurled against them, save that theirinertialess drive, at its normal thrust of two hundred gravities,was intentionally operated at one half of one per cent efficiency toprovide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. One of the officers said shakily, It's as if they've been lying inwait for us. But why on Earth— That, said the captain grimly, is what we have to find out. Why—onEarth. At least, I suspect the answer's there. The Quest III bored steadily on through space, decelerating. Even ifone were no fatalist, there seemed no reason to stop decelerating orchange course. There was nowhere else to go and too little fuel leftif there had been; come what might, this was journey's end—perhapsin a more violent and final way than had been anticipated. All aroundwheeled the pigmy enemies, circling, maneuvering, and attacking,always attacking, with the senseless fury of maddened hornets. Theinterstellar ship bore no offensive weapons—but suddenly on one of thevision screens a speck of light flared into nova-brilliance, dazzlingthe watchers for the brief moment in which its very atoms were tornapart. Knof Jr. whooped ecstatically and then subsided warily, but no one waspaying attention to him. The men on the Quest III's bridge lookedquestions at each other, as the thought of help from outside flashedinto many minds at once. But Captain Llud said soberly, It must havecaught one of their own shots, reflected. Maybe its own, if it scoredtoo direct a hit. He studied the data so far gathered. A few blurred pictures had beengot, which showed cylindrical space ships much like the Quest III ,except that they were rocket-propelled and of far lesser size. Theirsize was hard to ascertain, because you needed to know their distanceand speed—but detector-beam echoes gave the distance, and likewise, bythe Doppler method, the velocity of directly receding or approachingships. It was apparent that the enemy vessels were even smaller thanGwar Den had at first supposed—not large enough to hold even one man.Tiny, deadly hornets with a colossal sting. Robot craft, no doubt, said Knof Llud, but a chill ran down his spineas it occurred to him that perhaps the attackers weren't of humanorigin. They had seen no recognizable life in the part of the galaxythey had explored, but one of the other Quests might have encounteredand been traced home by some unhuman race that was greedy and able toconquer. <doc-sep>It became evident, too, that the bombardment was being kept up by aconstant arrival of fresh attackers, while others raced away intospace, presumably returning to base to replenish their ammunition. Thatargued a planned and prepared interception with virulent hatred behindit. Elsuz Llug, the gravitic engineer, calculated dismally, At the ratewe're having to shed energy, the fuel will be gone in six or eighthours. We'll have reached Earth before then, Gwar Den said hopefully. If they don't bring out the heavy artillery first. We're under the psychological disadvantage, said the captain, of notknowing why we're being attacked. Knof Jr. burst out, spluttering slightly with the violence of athought too important to suppress, But we're under a ps-psychologicaladvantage, too! His father raised an eyebrow. What's that? I don't seem to havenoticed it. They're mad and we aren't, yet, said the boy. Then, seeing that hehadn't made himself clear, In a fight, if a guy gets mad he startsswinging wild and then you nail him. Smiles splintered the ice of tension. Captain Llud said, Maybe you'vegot something there. They seem to be mad, all right. But we're not ina position to throw any punches. He turned back to the others. As Iwas going to say—I think we'd better try to parley with the enemy. Atleast we may find out who he is and why he's determined to smash us. And now instead of tight-beam detectors the ship was broadcasting on anaudio carrier wave that shifted through a wide range of frequencies,repeating on each the same brief recorded message: Who are you? What do you want? We are the interstellar expedition Quest III .... And so on, identifying themselves and protesting thatthey were unarmed and peaceful, that there must be some mistake, andquerying again, Who are you ? There was no answer. The ship drove on, its fuel trickling away undermultiplied demands. Those outside were squandering vastly greateramounts of energy in the effort to batter down its defenses, butconverting that energy into harmless gravitic impulses was costing the Quest III too. Once more Knof Llud had the insidious sense of his ownnerves and muscles and will weakening along with the power-sinews ofhis ship. Zost Relyul approached him apologetically. If you have time,Captain—I've got some data on Earth now. Eagerly Llud took the sheaf of photographs made with the telescope. Butthey told him nothing; only the continental outlines were clear, andthose were as they had been nine hundred years ago.... He looked upinquiringly at Zost Relyul. There are some strange features, said the astronomer carefully.First of all—there are no lights on the night side. And on thedaylight face, our highest magnification should already reveal tracesof cities, canals, and the like—but it does not. The prevailing color of the land masses, you see, is the normalgreen vegetation. But the diffraction spectrum is queer. It indicatesreflecting surfaces less than one-tenth millimeter wide—so thevegetation there can't be trees or grass, but must be more like a finemoss or even a coarse mold. Is that all? demanded Llud. Isn't it enough? said Zost Relyul blankly. Well—we triedphotography by invisible light, of course. The infra-red shows nothingand likewise the ultraviolet up to the point where the atmosphere isopaque to it. The captain sighed wearily. Good work, he said. Keep it up; perhapsyou can answer some of these riddles before— We know who you are , interrupted a harshly crackling voice with astrange accent, and pleading will do you no good. <doc-sep>Knof Llud whirled to the radio apparatus, his weariness dropping fromhim once more. He snapped, But who are you? and the words blendedabsurdly with the same words in his own voice on the still repeatingtape. He snapped off the record; as he did so the speaker, still cracklingwith space static, said, It may interest you to know that you are thelast. The two other interstellar expeditions that went out have alreadyreturned and been destroyed, as you will soon be—the sooner, if youcontinue toward Earth. Knof Llud's mind was clicking again. The voice—which must be comingfrom Earth, relayed by one of the midget ships—was not very smart; ithad already involuntarily told him a couple of things—that it was notas sure of itself as it sounded he deduced from the fact it had deignedto speak at all, and from its last remark he gathered that the QuestIII's ponderous and unswerving progress toward Earth had somehowfrightened it. So it was trying to frighten them. He shoved those facts back for future use. Just now he had to knowsomething, so vitally that he asked it as a bald question, Are youhuman? The voice chuckled sourly. We are human, it answered, but you arenot. The captain was momentarily silent, groping for an adequate reply.Behind him somebody made a choked noise, the only sound in the stunnedhush, and the ship jarred slightly as a thunderbolt slammed vengefullyinto its field. Suppose we settle this argument about humanity, said Knof Lludwoodenly. He named a vision frequency. Very well. The tone was like a shrug. The voice went on in itslanguage that was quite intelligible, but alien-sounding with thechanges that nine hundred years had wrought. Perhaps, if you realizeyour position, you will follow the intelligent example of the QuestI's commander. Knof Llud stiffened. The Quest I , launched toward Arcturus and thestar cloud called Berenice's Hair, had been after the Quest III themost hopeful of the expeditions—and its captain had been a good friendof Llud's, nine hundred years ago.... He growled, What happened tohim? He fought off our interceptors, which are around you now, for sometime, said the voice lightly. When he saw that it was hopeless, hepreferred suicide to defeat, and took his ship into the Sun. A shortpause. The vision connection is ready. Knof Llud switched on the screen at the named wavelength, and apicture formed there. The face and figure that appeared were ugly,but undeniably a man's. His features and his light-brown skin showedthe same racial characteristics possessed by those aboard the QuestIII , but he had an elusive look of deformity. Most obviously, his headseemed too big for his body, and his eyes in turn too big for his head. He grinned nastily at Knof Llud. Have you any other last wishes? Yes, said Llud with icy control. You haven't answered one question.Why do you want to kill us? You can see we're as human as you are. The big-headed man eyed him with a speculative look in his greateyes, behind which the captain glimpsed the flickering raw fire of apoisonous hatred. It is enough for you to know that you must die. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does the captain feel about the voyage and return?

The captain is very responsible concerning his position and keeps an impassive voice and appearance in relation to all events. To his wife though he shows warmth and care, and expresses confidence in Earth's stability, he calms down his wife. Nevertheless, he also feels uncertain about the reception on Earth. Space is the captain's passion, but Earth is still his home. He is nervous about returning and alone with himself doesn't know how to distract. He becomes nostalgic rewatching the records from the beginning of the voyage and feels empty and old. He used to be full of excitement and energy about the mission, but it failed, and at some point he didn't even want to return with the news of failure after centuries, when everything changed. Nevertheless, the decision was made and there is no other choice now. The trip has changed the captain and now he feels aged and tired. He wants to retire and live with his family on Earth, he becomes nostalgic of its forests and green places, but not sure he wants it either.

How does the crew feel about approaching Earth? [SEP] <s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>Knof Llud, the Quest III's captain, came slowly down the narrowstair from the observatory, into the big rotunda that was now the mainrecreation room, where most of the people gathered. The great chamber,a full cross-section of the vessel, had been at first a fuel hold. Atthe voyage's beginning eighty per cent of the fifteen-hundred-footcylinder had been engines and fuel; but as the immense stores werespent and the holds became radioactively safe, the crew had spreadout from its original cramped quarters. Now the interstellar ship waslittle more than a hollow shell. Eyes lifted from the vision screens to interrogate Knof Llud; he metthem with an impassive countenance, and announced quietly, We'vesighted Earth. A feverish buzz arose; the captain gestured for silence and went on,It is still only a featureless disk to the telescope. Zost Relyul hasidentified it—no more. But this time the clamor was not to be settled. People pressed roundthe screens, peering into them as if with the naked eye they couldpick out the atom of reflected light that was Earth, home. They wrungeach other's hands, kissed, shouted, wept. For the present their fearswere forgotten and exaltation prevailed. Knof Llud smiled wryly. The rest of the little speech he had been aboutto make didn't matter anyway, and it might have spoiled this moment. He turned to go, and was halted by the sight of his wife, standing athis elbow. His wry smile took on warmth; he asked, How do you feel,Lesra? She drew an uncertain breath and released it in a faint sigh. I don'tknow. It's good that Earth's still there. She was thinking, he judgedshrewdly, of Knof Jr. and Delza, who save from pictures could notremember sunlit skies or grassy fields or woods in summer.... He said, with a touch of tolerant amusement, What did you think mighthave happened to Earth? After all, it's only been nine hundred years. That's just it, said Lesra shakily. Nine hundred years have goneby— there —and nothing will be the same. It won't be the same worldwe left, the world we knew and fitted in.... The captain put an arm round her with comforting pressure. Don'tworry. Things may have changed—but we'll manage. But his face hadhardened against registering the gnawing of that same doubtful fearwithin him. He let his arm fall. I'd better get up to the bridge.There's a new course to be set now—for Earth. He left her and began to climb the stairway again. Someone switchedoff the lights, and a charmed whisper ran through the big room as thepeople saw each other's faces by the pale golden light of Earth's ownSun, mirrored and multiplied by the screens. In that light Lesra's eyesgleamed with unshed tears. Captain Llud found Navigator Gwar Den looking as smug as the catthat ate the canary. Gwar Den was finding that the actual observedpositions of the planets thus far located agreed quite closely withhis extrapolations from long unused charts of the Solar System. He hadalready set up on the calculator a course that would carry them toEarth. Llud nodded curt approval, remarking, Probably we'll be interceptedbefore we get that far. Den was jolted out of his happy abstraction. Uh, Captain, he saidhesitantly. What kind of a reception do you suppose we'll get? Llud shook his head slowly. Who knows? We don't know whether anyof the other Quests returned successful, or if they returned atall. And we don't know what changes have taken place on Earth. It'spossible—not likely, though—that something has happened to breakcivilization's continuity to the point where our expedition has beenforgotten altogether. <doc-sep>He turned away grim-lipped and left the bridge. From his privateoffice-cabin, he sent a message to Chief Astronomer Zost Relyul tonotify him as soon as Earth's surface features became clear; then hesat idle, alone with his thoughts. The ship's automatic mechanisms had scant need of tending; Knof Lludfound himself wishing that he could find some back-breaking task foreveryone on board, himself included, to fill up the hours that remained. There was an extensive and well-chosen film library in the cabin, buthe couldn't persuade himself to kill time that way. He could go downand watch the screens, or to the family apartment where he might findLesra and the children—but somehow he didn't want to do that either. He felt empty, drained—like his ship. As the Quest III's fuel storesand the hope of success in man's mightiest venture had dwindled, so thestrength had gone out of him. Now the last fuel compartment was almostempty and Captain Knof Llud felt tired and old. Perhaps, he thought, he was feeling the weight of his nine hundredEarth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years olderthan when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along thetime axis of a space ship approaching the speed of light. Weeks andmonths had passed for the Quest III in interstellar flight whileyears and decades had raced by on the home world. Bemusedly Llud got to his feet and stood surveying a cabinet withbuilt-in voice recorder and pigeonholes for records. There were aboutthree dozen film spools there—his personal memoirs of the greatexpedition, a segment of his life and of history. He might add that tothe ship's official log and its collections of scientific data, as areport to whatever powers might be on Earth now—if such powers werestill interested. Llud selected a spool from among the earliest. It was one he had madeshortly after leaving Procyon, end of the first leg of the trip. Heslid it onto the reproducer. His own voice came from the speaker, fresher, more vibrant andconfident than he knew it was now. One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's timesince leaving Earth. Our visit to Procyon drew a blank. There is only one huge planet, twicethe size of Jupiter, and like Jupiter utterly unfit to support a colony. Our hopes were dashed—and I think all of us, even remembering theCentaurus Expedition's failure, hoped more than we cared to admit. IfProcyon had possessed a habitable planet, we could have returned afteran absence of not much over twenty years Earth time. It is cheering to note that the crew seems only more resolute. We goon to Capella; its spectrum, so like our own Sun's, beckons. If successcomes there, a century will have passed before we can return to Earth;friends, relatives, all the generation that launched the Quest shipswill be long since dead. Nevertheless we go on. Our generation's dream,humanity's dream, lives in us and in the ship forever.... Presently Knof Llud switched off that younger voice of his and leanedback, an ironic smile touching his lips. That fervent idealism seemedremote and foreign to him now. The fanfares of departure must stillhave been ringing in his ears. He rose, slipped the record back in its niche and picked out another,later, one. One week since we passed close enough to Aldebaran to ascertain thatthat system, too, is devoid of planets. We face the unpleasant realization that what was feared is probablytrue—that worlds such as the Sun's are a rare accident, and that wemay complete our search without finding even one new Earth. It makes no difference, of course; we cannot betray the plan....This may be man's last chance of escaping his pitiful limitation toone world in all the Universe. Certainly the building of this shipand its two sisters, the immense expenditure of time and labor andenergy stores that went into them, left Earth's economy drained andexhausted. Only once in a long age does mankind rise to such a selflessand transcendent effort—the effort of Egypt that built the pyramids,or the war efforts of the nations in the last great conflicts of thetwentieth century. Looked at historically, such super-human outbursts of energy arethe result of a population's outgrowing its room and resources, andtherefore signalize the beginning of the end. Population can belimited, but the price is a deadly frustration, because growth alone islife.... In our day the end of man's room for growth on the Earth wasin sight—so we launched the Quests . Perhaps our effort will prove asfutile as pyramid-building, less practical than orgies of slaughter toreduce pressure.... In any case, it would be impossible to transportvery many people to other stars; but Earth could at least go intoits decline with the knowledge that its race went onward and upward,expanding limitlessly into the Universe.... Hopeless, unless we find planets! <doc-sep>Knof Llud shook his head sorrowfully and took off the spool. Thatwas from the time when he had grown philosophical after the firstdisappointments. He frowned thoughtfully, choosing one more spool that was only fouryears old. The recorded voice sounded weary, yet alive with a strangelonging.... We are in the heart of Pleiades; a hundred stars show brilliant onthe screens, each star encircled by a misty halo like lights glowingthrough fog, for we are traversing a vast diffuse nebula. According to plan, the Quest III has reached its furthest point fromEarth. Now we turn back along a curve that will take us past many morestars and stellar systems—but hope is small that any of those willprove a home for man, as have none of the thousands of stars examinedalready. But what are a few thousand stars in a galaxy of billions? We haveonly, as it were, visited a handful of the outlying villages of theUniverse, while the lights of its great cities still blaze far aheadalong the Milky Way. On flimsy excuses I have had Zost Relyul make observations of theglobular cluster Omega Centauri. There are a hundred thousand starsthere in a volume of space where one finds a few dozen in the Sun'sneighborhood; there if anywhere must circle the planets we seek! ButOmega Centauri is twenty thousand light years away.... Even so—by expending its remaining fuel freely, the Quest III couldachieve a velocity that would take us there without dying of senilityof aging too greatly. It would be a one-way journey—even if enoughfuel remained, there would be little point in returning to Earth aftermore than forty thousand years. By then our civilization certainly, andperhaps the human race itself, would have perished from memory. That was why the planners limited our voyage, and those of the other Quests , to less than a thousand years Earth time. Even now, accordingto the sociodynamic predictions made then, our civilization—if theother expeditions failed also—will have reached a dangerously unstablephase, and before we can get back it may have collapsed completely fromoverpopulation. Why go back, then with the news of our failure? Why not forget aboutEarth and go on to Omega Centauri? What use is quixotic loyalty to adecree five thousand years old, whose makers are dead and which may beforgotten back there? Would the crew be willing? I don't know—some of them still show signsof homesickness, though they know with their minds that everything thatwas once 'home' has probably been swept away.... It doesn't matter. Today I gave orders to swing the ship. Savagely Knof Llud stabbed the button that shut off the speaker. Thenhe sat for a time with head resting in his hands, staring into nothing. The memory of that fierce impulse to go on still had power to shakehim. A couple of lines of poetry came into his head, as he read themonce in translation from the ancient English.... ... for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. <doc-sep>Llud sighed. He still couldn't say just why he had given the order toturn back. The stars had claimed his heart—but he was still a part ofEarth, and not even nine hundred years of space and time had been ableto alter that. He wondered if there would still be a quiet stream and a greenshady place beside it where a death-weary man, relieved at last ofresponsibility, could rest and dream no more.... Those things wenton, if men didn't change them. And a pine forest where he and youngKnof could go camping, and lie on their backs at night and gaze at theglittering constellations, far away, out of reach.... He wasn't sure hewould want to do that, though. Suddenly a faint cushioned jar went through the great ship; it seemedto falter one moment in flight. <doc-sep>The captain was on his feet instantly, but then his movements becameunhurried. Whatever it had been was past, and he had a good ideawhat it had been—a meteoroid, nothing unusual in the vicinity ofthe Sun, though in interstellar space and around planetless starssuch collisions were rare to the vanishing point. No harm could havebeen done. The Quest III's collision armor was nonmaterial and forpractical purposes invulnerable. Just as he took his finger off the button that opened the door, theintercommunication phone shrilled imperatively. Knof Llud wheeled,frowning—surely a meteoroid impact wasn't that serious. Coincidence,maybe—it might be Zost Relyul calling as instructed. He reached the phone at the moment when another, heavier jolt shookthe vessel. Llud snatched up the receiver with the speed of a scaldedcat. Captain? It was Gwar Den's voice, stammering a little. Captain,we're being attacked! Sound the alarm. Emergency stations. He had said it automatically,then felt a curious detached relief at the knowledge that after allthese years he could still respond quickly and smoothly to a crisis.There was a moment's silence, and he heard the alarm start—threeshort buzzes and repeat, ringing through all the great length of theinterstellar ship. Knowing that Gwar Den was still there, he said,Now—attacked by what? Ships, said Gwar Den helplessly. Five of them so far. No, there's asixth now. Repeated blows quivered the Quest III's framework. Thenavigator said, obviously striving for calm, They're light craft, notfifty feet long, but they move fast. The detectors hardly had time toshow them before they opened up. Can't get a telescope beam on themlong enough to tell much. If they're that small, said Knof Llud deliberately, they can't carryanything heavy enough to hurt us. Hold to course. I'll be right up. In the open doorway he almost fell over his son. Young Knof's eyes werebig; he had heard his father's words. Something's happened, he judged with deadly twelve-year-oldseriousness and, without wasting time on questions, Can I go with you,huh, Dad? Llud hesitated, said, All right. Come along and keep out of the way.He headed for the bridge with strides that the boy could not match. There were people running in the corridors, heading for their posts.Their faces were set, scared, uncomprehending. The Quest III shuddered, again and again, under blows that must have had millionsof horsepower behind them; but it plunged on toward Earth, its mightyengines still steadily braking its interstellar velocity. To a man, the ship's responsible officers were already on the bridge,most of them breathless. To a man they looked appeal at Captain KnofLlud. Well? he snapped. What are they doing? Gwar Den spoke. There are thirteen of them out there now, sir, andthey're all banging away at us. The captain stared into the black star-strewn depths of a vision screenwhere occasional blue points of light winked ominously, never twicefrom the same position. Knof Jr. flattened himself against the metal wall and watched silently.His young face was less anxious than his elders'; he had confidence inhis father. If they had anything heavier, surmised the captain, they'd haveunlimbered it by now. They're out to get us. But at this rate, theycan't touch us as long as our power lasts—or until they bring up somebigger stuff. <doc-sep>The mild shocks went on—whether from projectiles or energy-charges,would be hard to find out and it didn't matter; whatever was hittingthe Quest III's shell was doing it at velocities where thedistinction between matter and radiation practically ceases to exist. But that shell was tough. It was an extension of the gravitic drivefield which transmitted the engines' power equally to every atom ofthe ship; forces impinging on the outside of the field were similarlytransmitted and rendered harmless. The effect was as if the vessel andall space inside its field were a single perfectly elastic body. Ameteoroid, for example, on striking it rebounded—usually vaporized bythe impact—and the ship, in obedience to the law of equal and oppositeforces, rebounded too, but since its mass was so much greater, itsdeflection was negligible. The people in the Quest III would have felt nothing at all ofthe vicious onslaught being hurled against them, save that theirinertialess drive, at its normal thrust of two hundred gravities,was intentionally operated at one half of one per cent efficiency toprovide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. One of the officers said shakily, It's as if they've been lying inwait for us. But why on Earth— That, said the captain grimly, is what we have to find out. Why—onEarth. At least, I suspect the answer's there. The Quest III bored steadily on through space, decelerating. Even ifone were no fatalist, there seemed no reason to stop decelerating orchange course. There was nowhere else to go and too little fuel leftif there had been; come what might, this was journey's end—perhapsin a more violent and final way than had been anticipated. All aroundwheeled the pigmy enemies, circling, maneuvering, and attacking,always attacking, with the senseless fury of maddened hornets. Theinterstellar ship bore no offensive weapons—but suddenly on one of thevision screens a speck of light flared into nova-brilliance, dazzlingthe watchers for the brief moment in which its very atoms were tornapart. Knof Jr. whooped ecstatically and then subsided warily, but no one waspaying attention to him. The men on the Quest III's bridge lookedquestions at each other, as the thought of help from outside flashedinto many minds at once. But Captain Llud said soberly, It must havecaught one of their own shots, reflected. Maybe its own, if it scoredtoo direct a hit. He studied the data so far gathered. A few blurred pictures had beengot, which showed cylindrical space ships much like the Quest III ,except that they were rocket-propelled and of far lesser size. Theirsize was hard to ascertain, because you needed to know their distanceand speed—but detector-beam echoes gave the distance, and likewise, bythe Doppler method, the velocity of directly receding or approachingships. It was apparent that the enemy vessels were even smaller thanGwar Den had at first supposed—not large enough to hold even one man.Tiny, deadly hornets with a colossal sting. Robot craft, no doubt, said Knof Llud, but a chill ran down his spineas it occurred to him that perhaps the attackers weren't of humanorigin. They had seen no recognizable life in the part of the galaxythey had explored, but one of the other Quests might have encounteredand been traced home by some unhuman race that was greedy and able toconquer. <doc-sep>It became evident, too, that the bombardment was being kept up by aconstant arrival of fresh attackers, while others raced away intospace, presumably returning to base to replenish their ammunition. Thatargued a planned and prepared interception with virulent hatred behindit. Elsuz Llug, the gravitic engineer, calculated dismally, At the ratewe're having to shed energy, the fuel will be gone in six or eighthours. We'll have reached Earth before then, Gwar Den said hopefully. If they don't bring out the heavy artillery first. We're under the psychological disadvantage, said the captain, of notknowing why we're being attacked. Knof Jr. burst out, spluttering slightly with the violence of athought too important to suppress, But we're under a ps-psychologicaladvantage, too! His father raised an eyebrow. What's that? I don't seem to havenoticed it. They're mad and we aren't, yet, said the boy. Then, seeing that hehadn't made himself clear, In a fight, if a guy gets mad he startsswinging wild and then you nail him. Smiles splintered the ice of tension. Captain Llud said, Maybe you'vegot something there. They seem to be mad, all right. But we're not ina position to throw any punches. He turned back to the others. As Iwas going to say—I think we'd better try to parley with the enemy. Atleast we may find out who he is and why he's determined to smash us. And now instead of tight-beam detectors the ship was broadcasting on anaudio carrier wave that shifted through a wide range of frequencies,repeating on each the same brief recorded message: Who are you? What do you want? We are the interstellar expedition Quest III .... And so on, identifying themselves and protesting thatthey were unarmed and peaceful, that there must be some mistake, andquerying again, Who are you ? There was no answer. The ship drove on, its fuel trickling away undermultiplied demands. Those outside were squandering vastly greateramounts of energy in the effort to batter down its defenses, butconverting that energy into harmless gravitic impulses was costing the Quest III too. Once more Knof Llud had the insidious sense of his ownnerves and muscles and will weakening along with the power-sinews ofhis ship. Zost Relyul approached him apologetically. If you have time,Captain—I've got some data on Earth now. Eagerly Llud took the sheaf of photographs made with the telescope. Butthey told him nothing; only the continental outlines were clear, andthose were as they had been nine hundred years ago.... He looked upinquiringly at Zost Relyul. There are some strange features, said the astronomer carefully.First of all—there are no lights on the night side. And on thedaylight face, our highest magnification should already reveal tracesof cities, canals, and the like—but it does not. The prevailing color of the land masses, you see, is the normalgreen vegetation. But the diffraction spectrum is queer. It indicatesreflecting surfaces less than one-tenth millimeter wide—so thevegetation there can't be trees or grass, but must be more like a finemoss or even a coarse mold. Is that all? demanded Llud. Isn't it enough? said Zost Relyul blankly. Well—we triedphotography by invisible light, of course. The infra-red shows nothingand likewise the ultraviolet up to the point where the atmosphere isopaque to it. The captain sighed wearily. Good work, he said. Keep it up; perhapsyou can answer some of these riddles before— We know who you are , interrupted a harshly crackling voice with astrange accent, and pleading will do you no good. <doc-sep>Knof Llud whirled to the radio apparatus, his weariness dropping fromhim once more. He snapped, But who are you? and the words blendedabsurdly with the same words in his own voice on the still repeatingtape. He snapped off the record; as he did so the speaker, still cracklingwith space static, said, It may interest you to know that you are thelast. The two other interstellar expeditions that went out have alreadyreturned and been destroyed, as you will soon be—the sooner, if youcontinue toward Earth. Knof Llud's mind was clicking again. The voice—which must be comingfrom Earth, relayed by one of the midget ships—was not very smart; ithad already involuntarily told him a couple of things—that it was notas sure of itself as it sounded he deduced from the fact it had deignedto speak at all, and from its last remark he gathered that the QuestIII's ponderous and unswerving progress toward Earth had somehowfrightened it. So it was trying to frighten them. He shoved those facts back for future use. Just now he had to knowsomething, so vitally that he asked it as a bald question, Are youhuman? The voice chuckled sourly. We are human, it answered, but you arenot. The captain was momentarily silent, groping for an adequate reply.Behind him somebody made a choked noise, the only sound in the stunnedhush, and the ship jarred slightly as a thunderbolt slammed vengefullyinto its field. Suppose we settle this argument about humanity, said Knof Lludwoodenly. He named a vision frequency. Very well. The tone was like a shrug. The voice went on in itslanguage that was quite intelligible, but alien-sounding with thechanges that nine hundred years had wrought. Perhaps, if you realizeyour position, you will follow the intelligent example of the QuestI's commander. Knof Llud stiffened. The Quest I , launched toward Arcturus and thestar cloud called Berenice's Hair, had been after the Quest III themost hopeful of the expeditions—and its captain had been a good friendof Llud's, nine hundred years ago.... He growled, What happened tohim? He fought off our interceptors, which are around you now, for sometime, said the voice lightly. When he saw that it was hopeless, hepreferred suicide to defeat, and took his ship into the Sun. A shortpause. The vision connection is ready. Knof Llud switched on the screen at the named wavelength, and apicture formed there. The face and figure that appeared were ugly,but undeniably a man's. His features and his light-brown skin showedthe same racial characteristics possessed by those aboard the QuestIII , but he had an elusive look of deformity. Most obviously, his headseemed too big for his body, and his eyes in turn too big for his head. He grinned nastily at Knof Llud. Have you any other last wishes? Yes, said Llud with icy control. You haven't answered one question.Why do you want to kill us? You can see we're as human as you are. The big-headed man eyed him with a speculative look in his greateyes, behind which the captain glimpsed the flickering raw fire of apoisonous hatred. It is enough for you to know that you must die. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] How does the crew feel about approaching Earth?

All the people are extremely excited to return, they keep talking and buzzing about it. Many are nervous about the centuries that have passed and about what they will find upon return. Lesra, the captain's wife, feels anxious, for a while she was even afraid the Earth won't be there. She is scared of how the Earth will look like now and tears fill her eyes. The navigator is also nervous about the reception they will get. When the ship is attacked, everyone is confused and scared, the mass panic starts. The captain has to maintain coolness and calm everyone down, but he is also anxious about the return. Moreover, he hates returning with failure and only does it because the ship ran out of fuel. So, the whole ship anticipates the return and misses home, but due to the long time far away, everyone is afraid of what awaits them.

What was the plan and purpose of the voyage? [SEP] <s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>Knof Llud, the Quest III's captain, came slowly down the narrowstair from the observatory, into the big rotunda that was now the mainrecreation room, where most of the people gathered. The great chamber,a full cross-section of the vessel, had been at first a fuel hold. Atthe voyage's beginning eighty per cent of the fifteen-hundred-footcylinder had been engines and fuel; but as the immense stores werespent and the holds became radioactively safe, the crew had spreadout from its original cramped quarters. Now the interstellar ship waslittle more than a hollow shell. Eyes lifted from the vision screens to interrogate Knof Llud; he metthem with an impassive countenance, and announced quietly, We'vesighted Earth. A feverish buzz arose; the captain gestured for silence and went on,It is still only a featureless disk to the telescope. Zost Relyul hasidentified it—no more. But this time the clamor was not to be settled. People pressed roundthe screens, peering into them as if with the naked eye they couldpick out the atom of reflected light that was Earth, home. They wrungeach other's hands, kissed, shouted, wept. For the present their fearswere forgotten and exaltation prevailed. Knof Llud smiled wryly. The rest of the little speech he had been aboutto make didn't matter anyway, and it might have spoiled this moment. He turned to go, and was halted by the sight of his wife, standing athis elbow. His wry smile took on warmth; he asked, How do you feel,Lesra? She drew an uncertain breath and released it in a faint sigh. I don'tknow. It's good that Earth's still there. She was thinking, he judgedshrewdly, of Knof Jr. and Delza, who save from pictures could notremember sunlit skies or grassy fields or woods in summer.... He said, with a touch of tolerant amusement, What did you think mighthave happened to Earth? After all, it's only been nine hundred years. That's just it, said Lesra shakily. Nine hundred years have goneby— there —and nothing will be the same. It won't be the same worldwe left, the world we knew and fitted in.... The captain put an arm round her with comforting pressure. Don'tworry. Things may have changed—but we'll manage. But his face hadhardened against registering the gnawing of that same doubtful fearwithin him. He let his arm fall. I'd better get up to the bridge.There's a new course to be set now—for Earth. He left her and began to climb the stairway again. Someone switchedoff the lights, and a charmed whisper ran through the big room as thepeople saw each other's faces by the pale golden light of Earth's ownSun, mirrored and multiplied by the screens. In that light Lesra's eyesgleamed with unshed tears. Captain Llud found Navigator Gwar Den looking as smug as the catthat ate the canary. Gwar Den was finding that the actual observedpositions of the planets thus far located agreed quite closely withhis extrapolations from long unused charts of the Solar System. He hadalready set up on the calculator a course that would carry them toEarth. Llud nodded curt approval, remarking, Probably we'll be interceptedbefore we get that far. Den was jolted out of his happy abstraction. Uh, Captain, he saidhesitantly. What kind of a reception do you suppose we'll get? Llud shook his head slowly. Who knows? We don't know whether anyof the other Quests returned successful, or if they returned atall. And we don't know what changes have taken place on Earth. It'spossible—not likely, though—that something has happened to breakcivilization's continuity to the point where our expedition has beenforgotten altogether. <doc-sep>He turned away grim-lipped and left the bridge. From his privateoffice-cabin, he sent a message to Chief Astronomer Zost Relyul tonotify him as soon as Earth's surface features became clear; then hesat idle, alone with his thoughts. The ship's automatic mechanisms had scant need of tending; Knof Lludfound himself wishing that he could find some back-breaking task foreveryone on board, himself included, to fill up the hours that remained. There was an extensive and well-chosen film library in the cabin, buthe couldn't persuade himself to kill time that way. He could go downand watch the screens, or to the family apartment where he might findLesra and the children—but somehow he didn't want to do that either. He felt empty, drained—like his ship. As the Quest III's fuel storesand the hope of success in man's mightiest venture had dwindled, so thestrength had gone out of him. Now the last fuel compartment was almostempty and Captain Knof Llud felt tired and old. Perhaps, he thought, he was feeling the weight of his nine hundredEarth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years olderthan when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along thetime axis of a space ship approaching the speed of light. Weeks andmonths had passed for the Quest III in interstellar flight whileyears and decades had raced by on the home world. Bemusedly Llud got to his feet and stood surveying a cabinet withbuilt-in voice recorder and pigeonholes for records. There were aboutthree dozen film spools there—his personal memoirs of the greatexpedition, a segment of his life and of history. He might add that tothe ship's official log and its collections of scientific data, as areport to whatever powers might be on Earth now—if such powers werestill interested. Llud selected a spool from among the earliest. It was one he had madeshortly after leaving Procyon, end of the first leg of the trip. Heslid it onto the reproducer. His own voice came from the speaker, fresher, more vibrant andconfident than he knew it was now. One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's timesince leaving Earth. Our visit to Procyon drew a blank. There is only one huge planet, twicethe size of Jupiter, and like Jupiter utterly unfit to support a colony. Our hopes were dashed—and I think all of us, even remembering theCentaurus Expedition's failure, hoped more than we cared to admit. IfProcyon had possessed a habitable planet, we could have returned afteran absence of not much over twenty years Earth time. It is cheering to note that the crew seems only more resolute. We goon to Capella; its spectrum, so like our own Sun's, beckons. If successcomes there, a century will have passed before we can return to Earth;friends, relatives, all the generation that launched the Quest shipswill be long since dead. Nevertheless we go on. Our generation's dream,humanity's dream, lives in us and in the ship forever.... Presently Knof Llud switched off that younger voice of his and leanedback, an ironic smile touching his lips. That fervent idealism seemedremote and foreign to him now. The fanfares of departure must stillhave been ringing in his ears. He rose, slipped the record back in its niche and picked out another,later, one. One week since we passed close enough to Aldebaran to ascertain thatthat system, too, is devoid of planets. We face the unpleasant realization that what was feared is probablytrue—that worlds such as the Sun's are a rare accident, and that wemay complete our search without finding even one new Earth. It makes no difference, of course; we cannot betray the plan....This may be man's last chance of escaping his pitiful limitation toone world in all the Universe. Certainly the building of this shipand its two sisters, the immense expenditure of time and labor andenergy stores that went into them, left Earth's economy drained andexhausted. Only once in a long age does mankind rise to such a selflessand transcendent effort—the effort of Egypt that built the pyramids,or the war efforts of the nations in the last great conflicts of thetwentieth century. Looked at historically, such super-human outbursts of energy arethe result of a population's outgrowing its room and resources, andtherefore signalize the beginning of the end. Population can belimited, but the price is a deadly frustration, because growth alone islife.... In our day the end of man's room for growth on the Earth wasin sight—so we launched the Quests . Perhaps our effort will prove asfutile as pyramid-building, less practical than orgies of slaughter toreduce pressure.... In any case, it would be impossible to transportvery many people to other stars; but Earth could at least go intoits decline with the knowledge that its race went onward and upward,expanding limitlessly into the Universe.... Hopeless, unless we find planets! <doc-sep>Knof Llud shook his head sorrowfully and took off the spool. Thatwas from the time when he had grown philosophical after the firstdisappointments. He frowned thoughtfully, choosing one more spool that was only fouryears old. The recorded voice sounded weary, yet alive with a strangelonging.... We are in the heart of Pleiades; a hundred stars show brilliant onthe screens, each star encircled by a misty halo like lights glowingthrough fog, for we are traversing a vast diffuse nebula. According to plan, the Quest III has reached its furthest point fromEarth. Now we turn back along a curve that will take us past many morestars and stellar systems—but hope is small that any of those willprove a home for man, as have none of the thousands of stars examinedalready. But what are a few thousand stars in a galaxy of billions? We haveonly, as it were, visited a handful of the outlying villages of theUniverse, while the lights of its great cities still blaze far aheadalong the Milky Way. On flimsy excuses I have had Zost Relyul make observations of theglobular cluster Omega Centauri. There are a hundred thousand starsthere in a volume of space where one finds a few dozen in the Sun'sneighborhood; there if anywhere must circle the planets we seek! ButOmega Centauri is twenty thousand light years away.... Even so—by expending its remaining fuel freely, the Quest III couldachieve a velocity that would take us there without dying of senilityof aging too greatly. It would be a one-way journey—even if enoughfuel remained, there would be little point in returning to Earth aftermore than forty thousand years. By then our civilization certainly, andperhaps the human race itself, would have perished from memory. That was why the planners limited our voyage, and those of the other Quests , to less than a thousand years Earth time. Even now, accordingto the sociodynamic predictions made then, our civilization—if theother expeditions failed also—will have reached a dangerously unstablephase, and before we can get back it may have collapsed completely fromoverpopulation. Why go back, then with the news of our failure? Why not forget aboutEarth and go on to Omega Centauri? What use is quixotic loyalty to adecree five thousand years old, whose makers are dead and which may beforgotten back there? Would the crew be willing? I don't know—some of them still show signsof homesickness, though they know with their minds that everything thatwas once 'home' has probably been swept away.... It doesn't matter. Today I gave orders to swing the ship. Savagely Knof Llud stabbed the button that shut off the speaker. Thenhe sat for a time with head resting in his hands, staring into nothing. The memory of that fierce impulse to go on still had power to shakehim. A couple of lines of poetry came into his head, as he read themonce in translation from the ancient English.... ... for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. <doc-sep>Llud sighed. He still couldn't say just why he had given the order toturn back. The stars had claimed his heart—but he was still a part ofEarth, and not even nine hundred years of space and time had been ableto alter that. He wondered if there would still be a quiet stream and a greenshady place beside it where a death-weary man, relieved at last ofresponsibility, could rest and dream no more.... Those things wenton, if men didn't change them. And a pine forest where he and youngKnof could go camping, and lie on their backs at night and gaze at theglittering constellations, far away, out of reach.... He wasn't sure hewould want to do that, though. Suddenly a faint cushioned jar went through the great ship; it seemedto falter one moment in flight. <doc-sep>The captain was on his feet instantly, but then his movements becameunhurried. Whatever it had been was past, and he had a good ideawhat it had been—a meteoroid, nothing unusual in the vicinity ofthe Sun, though in interstellar space and around planetless starssuch collisions were rare to the vanishing point. No harm could havebeen done. The Quest III's collision armor was nonmaterial and forpractical purposes invulnerable. Just as he took his finger off the button that opened the door, theintercommunication phone shrilled imperatively. Knof Llud wheeled,frowning—surely a meteoroid impact wasn't that serious. Coincidence,maybe—it might be Zost Relyul calling as instructed. He reached the phone at the moment when another, heavier jolt shookthe vessel. Llud snatched up the receiver with the speed of a scaldedcat. Captain? It was Gwar Den's voice, stammering a little. Captain,we're being attacked! Sound the alarm. Emergency stations. He had said it automatically,then felt a curious detached relief at the knowledge that after allthese years he could still respond quickly and smoothly to a crisis.There was a moment's silence, and he heard the alarm start—threeshort buzzes and repeat, ringing through all the great length of theinterstellar ship. Knowing that Gwar Den was still there, he said,Now—attacked by what? Ships, said Gwar Den helplessly. Five of them so far. No, there's asixth now. Repeated blows quivered the Quest III's framework. Thenavigator said, obviously striving for calm, They're light craft, notfifty feet long, but they move fast. The detectors hardly had time toshow them before they opened up. Can't get a telescope beam on themlong enough to tell much. If they're that small, said Knof Llud deliberately, they can't carryanything heavy enough to hurt us. Hold to course. I'll be right up. In the open doorway he almost fell over his son. Young Knof's eyes werebig; he had heard his father's words. Something's happened, he judged with deadly twelve-year-oldseriousness and, without wasting time on questions, Can I go with you,huh, Dad? Llud hesitated, said, All right. Come along and keep out of the way.He headed for the bridge with strides that the boy could not match. There were people running in the corridors, heading for their posts.Their faces were set, scared, uncomprehending. The Quest III shuddered, again and again, under blows that must have had millionsof horsepower behind them; but it plunged on toward Earth, its mightyengines still steadily braking its interstellar velocity. To a man, the ship's responsible officers were already on the bridge,most of them breathless. To a man they looked appeal at Captain KnofLlud. Well? he snapped. What are they doing? Gwar Den spoke. There are thirteen of them out there now, sir, andthey're all banging away at us. The captain stared into the black star-strewn depths of a vision screenwhere occasional blue points of light winked ominously, never twicefrom the same position. Knof Jr. flattened himself against the metal wall and watched silently.His young face was less anxious than his elders'; he had confidence inhis father. If they had anything heavier, surmised the captain, they'd haveunlimbered it by now. They're out to get us. But at this rate, theycan't touch us as long as our power lasts—or until they bring up somebigger stuff. <doc-sep>The mild shocks went on—whether from projectiles or energy-charges,would be hard to find out and it didn't matter; whatever was hittingthe Quest III's shell was doing it at velocities where thedistinction between matter and radiation practically ceases to exist. But that shell was tough. It was an extension of the gravitic drivefield which transmitted the engines' power equally to every atom ofthe ship; forces impinging on the outside of the field were similarlytransmitted and rendered harmless. The effect was as if the vessel andall space inside its field were a single perfectly elastic body. Ameteoroid, for example, on striking it rebounded—usually vaporized bythe impact—and the ship, in obedience to the law of equal and oppositeforces, rebounded too, but since its mass was so much greater, itsdeflection was negligible. The people in the Quest III would have felt nothing at all ofthe vicious onslaught being hurled against them, save that theirinertialess drive, at its normal thrust of two hundred gravities,was intentionally operated at one half of one per cent efficiency toprovide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. One of the officers said shakily, It's as if they've been lying inwait for us. But why on Earth— That, said the captain grimly, is what we have to find out. Why—onEarth. At least, I suspect the answer's there. The Quest III bored steadily on through space, decelerating. Even ifone were no fatalist, there seemed no reason to stop decelerating orchange course. There was nowhere else to go and too little fuel leftif there had been; come what might, this was journey's end—perhapsin a more violent and final way than had been anticipated. All aroundwheeled the pigmy enemies, circling, maneuvering, and attacking,always attacking, with the senseless fury of maddened hornets. Theinterstellar ship bore no offensive weapons—but suddenly on one of thevision screens a speck of light flared into nova-brilliance, dazzlingthe watchers for the brief moment in which its very atoms were tornapart. Knof Jr. whooped ecstatically and then subsided warily, but no one waspaying attention to him. The men on the Quest III's bridge lookedquestions at each other, as the thought of help from outside flashedinto many minds at once. But Captain Llud said soberly, It must havecaught one of their own shots, reflected. Maybe its own, if it scoredtoo direct a hit. He studied the data so far gathered. A few blurred pictures had beengot, which showed cylindrical space ships much like the Quest III ,except that they were rocket-propelled and of far lesser size. Theirsize was hard to ascertain, because you needed to know their distanceand speed—but detector-beam echoes gave the distance, and likewise, bythe Doppler method, the velocity of directly receding or approachingships. It was apparent that the enemy vessels were even smaller thanGwar Den had at first supposed—not large enough to hold even one man.Tiny, deadly hornets with a colossal sting. Robot craft, no doubt, said Knof Llud, but a chill ran down his spineas it occurred to him that perhaps the attackers weren't of humanorigin. They had seen no recognizable life in the part of the galaxythey had explored, but one of the other Quests might have encounteredand been traced home by some unhuman race that was greedy and able toconquer. <doc-sep>It became evident, too, that the bombardment was being kept up by aconstant arrival of fresh attackers, while others raced away intospace, presumably returning to base to replenish their ammunition. Thatargued a planned and prepared interception with virulent hatred behindit. Elsuz Llug, the gravitic engineer, calculated dismally, At the ratewe're having to shed energy, the fuel will be gone in six or eighthours. We'll have reached Earth before then, Gwar Den said hopefully. If they don't bring out the heavy artillery first. We're under the psychological disadvantage, said the captain, of notknowing why we're being attacked. Knof Jr. burst out, spluttering slightly with the violence of athought too important to suppress, But we're under a ps-psychologicaladvantage, too! His father raised an eyebrow. What's that? I don't seem to havenoticed it. They're mad and we aren't, yet, said the boy. Then, seeing that hehadn't made himself clear, In a fight, if a guy gets mad he startsswinging wild and then you nail him. Smiles splintered the ice of tension. Captain Llud said, Maybe you'vegot something there. They seem to be mad, all right. But we're not ina position to throw any punches. He turned back to the others. As Iwas going to say—I think we'd better try to parley with the enemy. Atleast we may find out who he is and why he's determined to smash us. And now instead of tight-beam detectors the ship was broadcasting on anaudio carrier wave that shifted through a wide range of frequencies,repeating on each the same brief recorded message: Who are you? What do you want? We are the interstellar expedition Quest III .... And so on, identifying themselves and protesting thatthey were unarmed and peaceful, that there must be some mistake, andquerying again, Who are you ? There was no answer. The ship drove on, its fuel trickling away undermultiplied demands. Those outside were squandering vastly greateramounts of energy in the effort to batter down its defenses, butconverting that energy into harmless gravitic impulses was costing the Quest III too. Once more Knof Llud had the insidious sense of his ownnerves and muscles and will weakening along with the power-sinews ofhis ship. Zost Relyul approached him apologetically. If you have time,Captain—I've got some data on Earth now. Eagerly Llud took the sheaf of photographs made with the telescope. Butthey told him nothing; only the continental outlines were clear, andthose were as they had been nine hundred years ago.... He looked upinquiringly at Zost Relyul. There are some strange features, said the astronomer carefully.First of all—there are no lights on the night side. And on thedaylight face, our highest magnification should already reveal tracesof cities, canals, and the like—but it does not. The prevailing color of the land masses, you see, is the normalgreen vegetation. But the diffraction spectrum is queer. It indicatesreflecting surfaces less than one-tenth millimeter wide—so thevegetation there can't be trees or grass, but must be more like a finemoss or even a coarse mold. Is that all? demanded Llud. Isn't it enough? said Zost Relyul blankly. Well—we triedphotography by invisible light, of course. The infra-red shows nothingand likewise the ultraviolet up to the point where the atmosphere isopaque to it. The captain sighed wearily. Good work, he said. Keep it up; perhapsyou can answer some of these riddles before— We know who you are , interrupted a harshly crackling voice with astrange accent, and pleading will do you no good. <doc-sep>Knof Llud whirled to the radio apparatus, his weariness dropping fromhim once more. He snapped, But who are you? and the words blendedabsurdly with the same words in his own voice on the still repeatingtape. He snapped off the record; as he did so the speaker, still cracklingwith space static, said, It may interest you to know that you are thelast. The two other interstellar expeditions that went out have alreadyreturned and been destroyed, as you will soon be—the sooner, if youcontinue toward Earth. Knof Llud's mind was clicking again. The voice—which must be comingfrom Earth, relayed by one of the midget ships—was not very smart; ithad already involuntarily told him a couple of things—that it was notas sure of itself as it sounded he deduced from the fact it had deignedto speak at all, and from its last remark he gathered that the QuestIII's ponderous and unswerving progress toward Earth had somehowfrightened it. So it was trying to frighten them. He shoved those facts back for future use. Just now he had to knowsomething, so vitally that he asked it as a bald question, Are youhuman? The voice chuckled sourly. We are human, it answered, but you arenot. The captain was momentarily silent, groping for an adequate reply.Behind him somebody made a choked noise, the only sound in the stunnedhush, and the ship jarred slightly as a thunderbolt slammed vengefullyinto its field. Suppose we settle this argument about humanity, said Knof Lludwoodenly. He named a vision frequency. Very well. The tone was like a shrug. The voice went on in itslanguage that was quite intelligible, but alien-sounding with thechanges that nine hundred years had wrought. Perhaps, if you realizeyour position, you will follow the intelligent example of the QuestI's commander. Knof Llud stiffened. The Quest I , launched toward Arcturus and thestar cloud called Berenice's Hair, had been after the Quest III themost hopeful of the expeditions—and its captain had been a good friendof Llud's, nine hundred years ago.... He growled, What happened tohim? He fought off our interceptors, which are around you now, for sometime, said the voice lightly. When he saw that it was hopeless, hepreferred suicide to defeat, and took his ship into the Sun. A shortpause. The vision connection is ready. Knof Llud switched on the screen at the named wavelength, and apicture formed there. The face and figure that appeared were ugly,but undeniably a man's. His features and his light-brown skin showedthe same racial characteristics possessed by those aboard the QuestIII , but he had an elusive look of deformity. Most obviously, his headseemed too big for his body, and his eyes in turn too big for his head. He grinned nastily at Knof Llud. Have you any other last wishes? Yes, said Llud with icy control. You haven't answered one question.Why do you want to kill us? You can see we're as human as you are. The big-headed man eyed him with a speculative look in his greateyes, behind which the captain glimpsed the flickering raw fire of apoisonous hatred. It is enough for you to know that you must die. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was the plan and purpose of the voyage?

A few ships were sent to space as a part of the mission. Quest III was one of them, but there also were Quest I and II. The purpose was for the ships to find a sun similar to the Sun somewhere in space, and a planet to live on, in case Earth will become unfit. This mission was of extreme importance for the whole of humanity and the crew felt honored and ready to sacrifice all they were leaving on Earth. Nevertheless, they kept hoping to return as fast as possible, but every sun was unfit. The amount of fuel for no more than one thousand Earth years was loaded before departure and the fairest point to reach was chosen. All three ships went different ways, and were cut from any communication. Nevertheless, Quest III was unable to find any fitting planet and had to return or stay in a place located more than forty thousand Earth years away. The captain decided to return, though the failure upset him.

What is the significance of the captain's decision to return to Earth instead of going to Omega Centauri? [SEP] <s> THE GIANTS RETURN By ROBERT ABERNATHY Earth set itself grimly to meet them with corrosive fire, determined to blast them back to the stars. But they erred in thinking the Old Ones were too big to be clever. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] In the last hours the star ahead had grown brighter by many magnitudes,and had changed its color from a dazzling blue through white to thenormal yellow, of a GO sun. That was the Doppler effect as the star'sradial velocity changed relative to the Quest III , as for forty hoursthe ship had decelerated. They had seen many such stars come near out of the galaxy's glitteringbackdrop, and had seen them dwindle, turn red and go out as the QuestIII drove on its way once more, lashed by despair toward the speed oflight, leaving behind the mockery of yet another solitary and lifelessluminary unaccompanied by worlds where men might dwell. They had grownsated with the sight of wonders—of multiple systems of giant stars, ofnebulae that sprawled in empty flame across light years. But now unwonted excitement possessed the hundred-odd members of the Quest III's crew. It was a subdued excitement; men and women, theycame and stood quietly gazing into the big vision screens that showedthe oncoming star, and there were wide-eyed children who had been bornin the ship and had never seen a planet. The grownups talked in lowvoices, in tones of mingled eagerness and apprehension, of what mightlie at the long journey's end. For the Quest III was coming home; thesun ahead was the Sun, whose rays had warmed their lives' beginning. <doc-sep>Knof Llud, the Quest III's captain, came slowly down the narrowstair from the observatory, into the big rotunda that was now the mainrecreation room, where most of the people gathered. The great chamber,a full cross-section of the vessel, had been at first a fuel hold. Atthe voyage's beginning eighty per cent of the fifteen-hundred-footcylinder had been engines and fuel; but as the immense stores werespent and the holds became radioactively safe, the crew had spreadout from its original cramped quarters. Now the interstellar ship waslittle more than a hollow shell. Eyes lifted from the vision screens to interrogate Knof Llud; he metthem with an impassive countenance, and announced quietly, We'vesighted Earth. A feverish buzz arose; the captain gestured for silence and went on,It is still only a featureless disk to the telescope. Zost Relyul hasidentified it—no more. But this time the clamor was not to be settled. People pressed roundthe screens, peering into them as if with the naked eye they couldpick out the atom of reflected light that was Earth, home. They wrungeach other's hands, kissed, shouted, wept. For the present their fearswere forgotten and exaltation prevailed. Knof Llud smiled wryly. The rest of the little speech he had been aboutto make didn't matter anyway, and it might have spoiled this moment. He turned to go, and was halted by the sight of his wife, standing athis elbow. His wry smile took on warmth; he asked, How do you feel,Lesra? She drew an uncertain breath and released it in a faint sigh. I don'tknow. It's good that Earth's still there. She was thinking, he judgedshrewdly, of Knof Jr. and Delza, who save from pictures could notremember sunlit skies or grassy fields or woods in summer.... He said, with a touch of tolerant amusement, What did you think mighthave happened to Earth? After all, it's only been nine hundred years. That's just it, said Lesra shakily. Nine hundred years have goneby— there —and nothing will be the same. It won't be the same worldwe left, the world we knew and fitted in.... The captain put an arm round her with comforting pressure. Don'tworry. Things may have changed—but we'll manage. But his face hadhardened against registering the gnawing of that same doubtful fearwithin him. He let his arm fall. I'd better get up to the bridge.There's a new course to be set now—for Earth. He left her and began to climb the stairway again. Someone switchedoff the lights, and a charmed whisper ran through the big room as thepeople saw each other's faces by the pale golden light of Earth's ownSun, mirrored and multiplied by the screens. In that light Lesra's eyesgleamed with unshed tears. Captain Llud found Navigator Gwar Den looking as smug as the catthat ate the canary. Gwar Den was finding that the actual observedpositions of the planets thus far located agreed quite closely withhis extrapolations from long unused charts of the Solar System. He hadalready set up on the calculator a course that would carry them toEarth. Llud nodded curt approval, remarking, Probably we'll be interceptedbefore we get that far. Den was jolted out of his happy abstraction. Uh, Captain, he saidhesitantly. What kind of a reception do you suppose we'll get? Llud shook his head slowly. Who knows? We don't know whether anyof the other Quests returned successful, or if they returned atall. And we don't know what changes have taken place on Earth. It'spossible—not likely, though—that something has happened to breakcivilization's continuity to the point where our expedition has beenforgotten altogether. <doc-sep>He turned away grim-lipped and left the bridge. From his privateoffice-cabin, he sent a message to Chief Astronomer Zost Relyul tonotify him as soon as Earth's surface features became clear; then hesat idle, alone with his thoughts. The ship's automatic mechanisms had scant need of tending; Knof Lludfound himself wishing that he could find some back-breaking task foreveryone on board, himself included, to fill up the hours that remained. There was an extensive and well-chosen film library in the cabin, buthe couldn't persuade himself to kill time that way. He could go downand watch the screens, or to the family apartment where he might findLesra and the children—but somehow he didn't want to do that either. He felt empty, drained—like his ship. As the Quest III's fuel storesand the hope of success in man's mightiest venture had dwindled, so thestrength had gone out of him. Now the last fuel compartment was almostempty and Captain Knof Llud felt tired and old. Perhaps, he thought, he was feeling the weight of his nine hundredEarth years—though physically he was only forty now, ten years olderthan when the voyage had begun. That was the foreshortening along thetime axis of a space ship approaching the speed of light. Weeks andmonths had passed for the Quest III in interstellar flight whileyears and decades had raced by on the home world. Bemusedly Llud got to his feet and stood surveying a cabinet withbuilt-in voice recorder and pigeonholes for records. There were aboutthree dozen film spools there—his personal memoirs of the greatexpedition, a segment of his life and of history. He might add that tothe ship's official log and its collections of scientific data, as areport to whatever powers might be on Earth now—if such powers werestill interested. Llud selected a spool from among the earliest. It was one he had madeshortly after leaving Procyon, end of the first leg of the trip. Heslid it onto the reproducer. His own voice came from the speaker, fresher, more vibrant andconfident than he knew it was now. One light-day out from Procyon, the thirty-third day by ship's timesince leaving Earth. Our visit to Procyon drew a blank. There is only one huge planet, twicethe size of Jupiter, and like Jupiter utterly unfit to support a colony. Our hopes were dashed—and I think all of us, even remembering theCentaurus Expedition's failure, hoped more than we cared to admit. IfProcyon had possessed a habitable planet, we could have returned afteran absence of not much over twenty years Earth time. It is cheering to note that the crew seems only more resolute. We goon to Capella; its spectrum, so like our own Sun's, beckons. If successcomes there, a century will have passed before we can return to Earth;friends, relatives, all the generation that launched the Quest shipswill be long since dead. Nevertheless we go on. Our generation's dream,humanity's dream, lives in us and in the ship forever.... Presently Knof Llud switched off that younger voice of his and leanedback, an ironic smile touching his lips. That fervent idealism seemedremote and foreign to him now. The fanfares of departure must stillhave been ringing in his ears. He rose, slipped the record back in its niche and picked out another,later, one. One week since we passed close enough to Aldebaran to ascertain thatthat system, too, is devoid of planets. We face the unpleasant realization that what was feared is probablytrue—that worlds such as the Sun's are a rare accident, and that wemay complete our search without finding even one new Earth. It makes no difference, of course; we cannot betray the plan....This may be man's last chance of escaping his pitiful limitation toone world in all the Universe. Certainly the building of this shipand its two sisters, the immense expenditure of time and labor andenergy stores that went into them, left Earth's economy drained andexhausted. Only once in a long age does mankind rise to such a selflessand transcendent effort—the effort of Egypt that built the pyramids,or the war efforts of the nations in the last great conflicts of thetwentieth century. Looked at historically, such super-human outbursts of energy arethe result of a population's outgrowing its room and resources, andtherefore signalize the beginning of the end. Population can belimited, but the price is a deadly frustration, because growth alone islife.... In our day the end of man's room for growth on the Earth wasin sight—so we launched the Quests . Perhaps our effort will prove asfutile as pyramid-building, less practical than orgies of slaughter toreduce pressure.... In any case, it would be impossible to transportvery many people to other stars; but Earth could at least go intoits decline with the knowledge that its race went onward and upward,expanding limitlessly into the Universe.... Hopeless, unless we find planets! <doc-sep>Knof Llud shook his head sorrowfully and took off the spool. Thatwas from the time when he had grown philosophical after the firstdisappointments. He frowned thoughtfully, choosing one more spool that was only fouryears old. The recorded voice sounded weary, yet alive with a strangelonging.... We are in the heart of Pleiades; a hundred stars show brilliant onthe screens, each star encircled by a misty halo like lights glowingthrough fog, for we are traversing a vast diffuse nebula. According to plan, the Quest III has reached its furthest point fromEarth. Now we turn back along a curve that will take us past many morestars and stellar systems—but hope is small that any of those willprove a home for man, as have none of the thousands of stars examinedalready. But what are a few thousand stars in a galaxy of billions? We haveonly, as it were, visited a handful of the outlying villages of theUniverse, while the lights of its great cities still blaze far aheadalong the Milky Way. On flimsy excuses I have had Zost Relyul make observations of theglobular cluster Omega Centauri. There are a hundred thousand starsthere in a volume of space where one finds a few dozen in the Sun'sneighborhood; there if anywhere must circle the planets we seek! ButOmega Centauri is twenty thousand light years away.... Even so—by expending its remaining fuel freely, the Quest III couldachieve a velocity that would take us there without dying of senilityof aging too greatly. It would be a one-way journey—even if enoughfuel remained, there would be little point in returning to Earth aftermore than forty thousand years. By then our civilization certainly, andperhaps the human race itself, would have perished from memory. That was why the planners limited our voyage, and those of the other Quests , to less than a thousand years Earth time. Even now, accordingto the sociodynamic predictions made then, our civilization—if theother expeditions failed also—will have reached a dangerously unstablephase, and before we can get back it may have collapsed completely fromoverpopulation. Why go back, then with the news of our failure? Why not forget aboutEarth and go on to Omega Centauri? What use is quixotic loyalty to adecree five thousand years old, whose makers are dead and which may beforgotten back there? Would the crew be willing? I don't know—some of them still show signsof homesickness, though they know with their minds that everything thatwas once 'home' has probably been swept away.... It doesn't matter. Today I gave orders to swing the ship. Savagely Knof Llud stabbed the button that shut off the speaker. Thenhe sat for a time with head resting in his hands, staring into nothing. The memory of that fierce impulse to go on still had power to shakehim. A couple of lines of poetry came into his head, as he read themonce in translation from the ancient English.... ... for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. <doc-sep>Llud sighed. He still couldn't say just why he had given the order toturn back. The stars had claimed his heart—but he was still a part ofEarth, and not even nine hundred years of space and time had been ableto alter that. He wondered if there would still be a quiet stream and a greenshady place beside it where a death-weary man, relieved at last ofresponsibility, could rest and dream no more.... Those things wenton, if men didn't change them. And a pine forest where he and youngKnof could go camping, and lie on their backs at night and gaze at theglittering constellations, far away, out of reach.... He wasn't sure hewould want to do that, though. Suddenly a faint cushioned jar went through the great ship; it seemedto falter one moment in flight. <doc-sep>The captain was on his feet instantly, but then his movements becameunhurried. Whatever it had been was past, and he had a good ideawhat it had been—a meteoroid, nothing unusual in the vicinity ofthe Sun, though in interstellar space and around planetless starssuch collisions were rare to the vanishing point. No harm could havebeen done. The Quest III's collision armor was nonmaterial and forpractical purposes invulnerable. Just as he took his finger off the button that opened the door, theintercommunication phone shrilled imperatively. Knof Llud wheeled,frowning—surely a meteoroid impact wasn't that serious. Coincidence,maybe—it might be Zost Relyul calling as instructed. He reached the phone at the moment when another, heavier jolt shookthe vessel. Llud snatched up the receiver with the speed of a scaldedcat. Captain? It was Gwar Den's voice, stammering a little. Captain,we're being attacked! Sound the alarm. Emergency stations. He had said it automatically,then felt a curious detached relief at the knowledge that after allthese years he could still respond quickly and smoothly to a crisis.There was a moment's silence, and he heard the alarm start—threeshort buzzes and repeat, ringing through all the great length of theinterstellar ship. Knowing that Gwar Den was still there, he said,Now—attacked by what? Ships, said Gwar Den helplessly. Five of them so far. No, there's asixth now. Repeated blows quivered the Quest III's framework. Thenavigator said, obviously striving for calm, They're light craft, notfifty feet long, but they move fast. The detectors hardly had time toshow them before they opened up. Can't get a telescope beam on themlong enough to tell much. If they're that small, said Knof Llud deliberately, they can't carryanything heavy enough to hurt us. Hold to course. I'll be right up. In the open doorway he almost fell over his son. Young Knof's eyes werebig; he had heard his father's words. Something's happened, he judged with deadly twelve-year-oldseriousness and, without wasting time on questions, Can I go with you,huh, Dad? Llud hesitated, said, All right. Come along and keep out of the way.He headed for the bridge with strides that the boy could not match. There were people running in the corridors, heading for their posts.Their faces were set, scared, uncomprehending. The Quest III shuddered, again and again, under blows that must have had millionsof horsepower behind them; but it plunged on toward Earth, its mightyengines still steadily braking its interstellar velocity. To a man, the ship's responsible officers were already on the bridge,most of them breathless. To a man they looked appeal at Captain KnofLlud. Well? he snapped. What are they doing? Gwar Den spoke. There are thirteen of them out there now, sir, andthey're all banging away at us. The captain stared into the black star-strewn depths of a vision screenwhere occasional blue points of light winked ominously, never twicefrom the same position. Knof Jr. flattened himself against the metal wall and watched silently.His young face was less anxious than his elders'; he had confidence inhis father. If they had anything heavier, surmised the captain, they'd haveunlimbered it by now. They're out to get us. But at this rate, theycan't touch us as long as our power lasts—or until they bring up somebigger stuff. <doc-sep>The mild shocks went on—whether from projectiles or energy-charges,would be hard to find out and it didn't matter; whatever was hittingthe Quest III's shell was doing it at velocities where thedistinction between matter and radiation practically ceases to exist. But that shell was tough. It was an extension of the gravitic drivefield which transmitted the engines' power equally to every atom ofthe ship; forces impinging on the outside of the field were similarlytransmitted and rendered harmless. The effect was as if the vessel andall space inside its field were a single perfectly elastic body. Ameteoroid, for example, on striking it rebounded—usually vaporized bythe impact—and the ship, in obedience to the law of equal and oppositeforces, rebounded too, but since its mass was so much greater, itsdeflection was negligible. The people in the Quest III would have felt nothing at all ofthe vicious onslaught being hurled against them, save that theirinertialess drive, at its normal thrust of two hundred gravities,was intentionally operated at one half of one per cent efficiency toprovide the illusion of Earthly gravitation. One of the officers said shakily, It's as if they've been lying inwait for us. But why on Earth— That, said the captain grimly, is what we have to find out. Why—onEarth. At least, I suspect the answer's there. The Quest III bored steadily on through space, decelerating. Even ifone were no fatalist, there seemed no reason to stop decelerating orchange course. There was nowhere else to go and too little fuel leftif there had been; come what might, this was journey's end—perhapsin a more violent and final way than had been anticipated. All aroundwheeled the pigmy enemies, circling, maneuvering, and attacking,always attacking, with the senseless fury of maddened hornets. Theinterstellar ship bore no offensive weapons—but suddenly on one of thevision screens a speck of light flared into nova-brilliance, dazzlingthe watchers for the brief moment in which its very atoms were tornapart. Knof Jr. whooped ecstatically and then subsided warily, but no one waspaying attention to him. The men on the Quest III's bridge lookedquestions at each other, as the thought of help from outside flashedinto many minds at once. But Captain Llud said soberly, It must havecaught one of their own shots, reflected. Maybe its own, if it scoredtoo direct a hit. He studied the data so far gathered. A few blurred pictures had beengot, which showed cylindrical space ships much like the Quest III ,except that they were rocket-propelled and of far lesser size. Theirsize was hard to ascertain, because you needed to know their distanceand speed—but detector-beam echoes gave the distance, and likewise, bythe Doppler method, the velocity of directly receding or approachingships. It was apparent that the enemy vessels were even smaller thanGwar Den had at first supposed—not large enough to hold even one man.Tiny, deadly hornets with a colossal sting. Robot craft, no doubt, said Knof Llud, but a chill ran down his spineas it occurred to him that perhaps the attackers weren't of humanorigin. They had seen no recognizable life in the part of the galaxythey had explored, but one of the other Quests might have encounteredand been traced home by some unhuman race that was greedy and able toconquer. <doc-sep>It became evident, too, that the bombardment was being kept up by aconstant arrival of fresh attackers, while others raced away intospace, presumably returning to base to replenish their ammunition. Thatargued a planned and prepared interception with virulent hatred behindit. Elsuz Llug, the gravitic engineer, calculated dismally, At the ratewe're having to shed energy, the fuel will be gone in six or eighthours. We'll have reached Earth before then, Gwar Den said hopefully. If they don't bring out the heavy artillery first. We're under the psychological disadvantage, said the captain, of notknowing why we're being attacked. Knof Jr. burst out, spluttering slightly with the violence of athought too important to suppress, But we're under a ps-psychologicaladvantage, too! His father raised an eyebrow. What's that? I don't seem to havenoticed it. They're mad and we aren't, yet, said the boy. Then, seeing that hehadn't made himself clear, In a fight, if a guy gets mad he startsswinging wild and then you nail him. Smiles splintered the ice of tension. Captain Llud said, Maybe you'vegot something there. They seem to be mad, all right. But we're not ina position to throw any punches. He turned back to the others. As Iwas going to say—I think we'd better try to parley with the enemy. Atleast we may find out who he is and why he's determined to smash us. And now instead of tight-beam detectors the ship was broadcasting on anaudio carrier wave that shifted through a wide range of frequencies,repeating on each the same brief recorded message: Who are you? What do you want? We are the interstellar expedition Quest III .... And so on, identifying themselves and protesting thatthey were unarmed and peaceful, that there must be some mistake, andquerying again, Who are you ? There was no answer. The ship drove on, its fuel trickling away undermultiplied demands. Those outside were squandering vastly greateramounts of energy in the effort to batter down its defenses, butconverting that energy into harmless gravitic impulses was costing the Quest III too. Once more Knof Llud had the insidious sense of his ownnerves and muscles and will weakening along with the power-sinews ofhis ship. Zost Relyul approached him apologetically. If you have time,Captain—I've got some data on Earth now. Eagerly Llud took the sheaf of photographs made with the telescope. Butthey told him nothing; only the continental outlines were clear, andthose were as they had been nine hundred years ago.... He looked upinquiringly at Zost Relyul. There are some strange features, said the astronomer carefully.First of all—there are no lights on the night side. And on thedaylight face, our highest magnification should already reveal tracesof cities, canals, and the like—but it does not. The prevailing color of the land masses, you see, is the normalgreen vegetation. But the diffraction spectrum is queer. It indicatesreflecting surfaces less than one-tenth millimeter wide—so thevegetation there can't be trees or grass, but must be more like a finemoss or even a coarse mold. Is that all? demanded Llud. Isn't it enough? said Zost Relyul blankly. Well—we triedphotography by invisible light, of course. The infra-red shows nothingand likewise the ultraviolet up to the point where the atmosphere isopaque to it. The captain sighed wearily. Good work, he said. Keep it up; perhapsyou can answer some of these riddles before— We know who you are , interrupted a harshly crackling voice with astrange accent, and pleading will do you no good. <doc-sep>Knof Llud whirled to the radio apparatus, his weariness dropping fromhim once more. He snapped, But who are you? and the words blendedabsurdly with the same words in his own voice on the still repeatingtape. He snapped off the record; as he did so the speaker, still cracklingwith space static, said, It may interest you to know that you are thelast. The two other interstellar expeditions that went out have alreadyreturned and been destroyed, as you will soon be—the sooner, if youcontinue toward Earth. Knof Llud's mind was clicking again. The voice—which must be comingfrom Earth, relayed by one of the midget ships—was not very smart; ithad already involuntarily told him a couple of things—that it was notas sure of itself as it sounded he deduced from the fact it had deignedto speak at all, and from its last remark he gathered that the QuestIII's ponderous and unswerving progress toward Earth had somehowfrightened it. So it was trying to frighten them. He shoved those facts back for future use. Just now he had to knowsomething, so vitally that he asked it as a bald question, Are youhuman? The voice chuckled sourly. We are human, it answered, but you arenot. The captain was momentarily silent, groping for an adequate reply.Behind him somebody made a choked noise, the only sound in the stunnedhush, and the ship jarred slightly as a thunderbolt slammed vengefullyinto its field. Suppose we settle this argument about humanity, said Knof Lludwoodenly. He named a vision frequency. Very well. The tone was like a shrug. The voice went on in itslanguage that was quite intelligible, but alien-sounding with thechanges that nine hundred years had wrought. Perhaps, if you realizeyour position, you will follow the intelligent example of the QuestI's commander. Knof Llud stiffened. The Quest I , launched toward Arcturus and thestar cloud called Berenice's Hair, had been after the Quest III themost hopeful of the expeditions—and its captain had been a good friendof Llud's, nine hundred years ago.... He growled, What happened tohim? He fought off our interceptors, which are around you now, for sometime, said the voice lightly. When he saw that it was hopeless, hepreferred suicide to defeat, and took his ship into the Sun. A shortpause. The vision connection is ready. Knof Llud switched on the screen at the named wavelength, and apicture formed there. The face and figure that appeared were ugly,but undeniably a man's. His features and his light-brown skin showedthe same racial characteristics possessed by those aboard the QuestIII , but he had an elusive look of deformity. Most obviously, his headseemed too big for his body, and his eyes in turn too big for his head. He grinned nastily at Knof Llud. Have you any other last wishes? Yes, said Llud with icy control. You haven't answered one question.Why do you want to kill us? You can see we're as human as you are. The big-headed man eyed him with a speculative look in his greateyes, behind which the captain glimpsed the flickering raw fire of apoisonous hatred. It is enough for you to know that you must die. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of the captain's decision to return to Earth instead of going to Omega Centauri?

The whole crew was getting homesick and excited about returning, even the captain became nostalgic of the forests and green areas. On the other hand, all the people the crew knew had died a long time ago, and there was some frightening uncertainty about what awaited them upon return. Therefore, the decision was hard to make. Even more difficult it was for the captain as he didn't want to return with the news of failure. Soon, it turns out that the return was a dangerous choice and the crew is not welcome. The ship is attacked and the enemy threatens to destroy the ship, which can't turn away as it is out of fuel. Therefore, this decision put the whole crew in danger instead of fulfilling their hopes for warm welcome and excitement to come home.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> The Blue Behemoth By LEIGH BRACKETT Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed space-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. It made a one-night pitch on a Venusian swamp-town—to find that death stalked it from the jungle in a tiny ball of flame. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Bucky Shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. Heknocked over the pitcher of thil , but it didn't matter. The pitcherwas empty. He jabbed me in the breastbone with his forefinger, notvery hard. Not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough tospring them. We, he said, are broke. We are finished, through. Washed up anddown the drain. He added, as an afterthought, Destitute. I looked at him. I said sourly, You're kidding! Kidding. Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me througha curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. He saysI'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show inSpace, plastered so thick with attachments.... It's no more plastered than you are. I was sore because he'd been alot quicker grabbing the pitcher. The Greatest Show in Space. Phooey!I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle foreleven years, and I know. It's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down!Nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. In short, it stinks! I must have had the pitcher oftener than I thought. Nobody insultsBuckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's faceunless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see hisgrey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martiangirl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch theslanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing roundtoward us, pleased and kind of hungry. I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven toShannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. I said, Bucky. Hold on, fella. I.... Somebody said, Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister BuckhalterShannon? Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiledpleasantly and said, very gently: Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel? I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even ifhe was a lousy bill-collecter; and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannonsettled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressedin dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering ofgrey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfullyclean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trustwith their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad. There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with paleblue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's. He said, I don't think you understand. I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chairback. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. Igot my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. Bucky Shannon sighed,and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc. Then I saw what the little guy was holding in his hand. I yelled and knocked the table over into Bucky. It made a lot of noise.It knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up,quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed. Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. What's eating you,Jig? I'm not going to hurt him. Shut up, I said. Look what he's got there. Money! The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. Yes, he said.Money. Quite a lot of it. Would you gentlemen permit me to join you? Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. Delighted. I'mShannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager. He looked down atthe table. I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity. The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his facestayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a startthat it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan Iever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any morethan you could see through sheet metal. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said,Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, lookinglike hungry cats at a mouse-hole. The little guy nodded. Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. SimonBeamish. I wish to—ah—charter your circus. <doc-sep>I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn'tsay anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a freshpitcher of thil on the table. Then I cleared my throat. What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish? Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. I haveindependent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lightenthe burden of life for those less fortunate.... Bucky got red around the ears. Just a minute, he murmured, andstarted to get up. I kicked him under the table. Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish. He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamishignored him. He went on, quietly, I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the mostvaluable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation oftoil and boredom.... I said, Sure, sure. But what was your idea? There are many towns along the Venusian frontiers where noentertainment of the— proper sort has been available. I propose toremedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to makea tour of several settlements along the Tehara Belt. Bucky had relaxed. His grey-green eyes began to gleam. He started tospeak, and I kicked him again. That would be expensive, Mister Beamish, I said. We'd have to cancelseveral engagements.... He looked at me. I was lying, and he knew it. But he said, I quite understand that. I would be prepared.... The curtains were yanked back suddenly. Beamish shut up. Bucky and Iglared at the head and shoulders poking in between the drapes. It was Gow, our zoo-man—a big, ugly son-of-a-gun from a Terrancolony on Mercury. I was there once. Gow looks a lot like thescenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding thecurtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much largerthan the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. He said, Boss, Gertrude's actin' up again. Gertrude be blowed, growled Bucky. Can't you see I'm busy? Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrudeain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something.... I said, That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now. He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber tofit me for a coffin. Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome,see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-potship'll hold her. He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamishcleared his throat and said, rather stiffly, Gertrude? Yeah. She's kind of temperamental. Bucky took a quick drink. Ifinished for him. She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swampVenusian cansin . The only other one on the Triangle belongs to SavittBrothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude. She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may bea little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped shewouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-lookingcircus than even I could stand. Beamish looked impressed. A cansin . Well, well! The mysterysurrounding the origin and species of the cansin is a fascinatingsubject. The extreme rarity of the animal.... We were getting off the subject. I said tactfully, We'd have to haveat least a hundred U.C.'s. It was twice what we had any right to ask. I was prepared to dicker.Beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. For a fraction of asecond I thought I saw something back of his round blue eyes, and mystomach jumped like it was shot. Beamish smiled sweetly. I'm not much of a bargainer. One hundred Universal Credits will beagreeable to me. He dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeledoff half a dozen credit slips, and laid them on the table. By way of a retainer, gentleman. My attorney and I will call on you inthe morning with a contract and itinerary. Good night. We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky madegrab for the money, but I beat him to it. Scram, I said. There are guys waiting for this. Big guys with clubs.Here. I gave him a small-denomination slip I'd been holding out. Wecan get lushed enough on this. Shannon has a good vocabulary. He used it. When he got his breath backhe said suddenly, Beamish is pulling some kind of a game. Yeah. It may be crooked. Sure. And he may be screwball and on the level. For Pete's sake! Iyelled. You want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away? Shannon looked at me, kind of funny. He looked at the bulge in my tunicwhere the roll was. He raked back his thick light hair. Yeah, he said. I hope there'll be enough left to bribe the jury. Hepoked his head outside. Hey, boy! More thildatum ! <doc-sep>It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport whereShannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Lateas it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sittingaround and smoking and looking very ugly. It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restlessunder the two moons. There's a smell to Mars, like something dead anddried long past decay, but still waiting. An unhappy smell. The blownred dust gritted in my teeth. Bucky Shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance tothe roped-off space around the main lock. He was pretty steady on hisfeet. He waved and said, Hiya, boys. They got up off the steps, and the packing cases, and came toward us. Igrinned and got into my brassies. We felt we owed those boys a lot morethan money. It grates on a man's pride to have to sneak in and out ofhis own property through the sewage lock. This was the first time inweeks we'd come in at the front door. I waved the money in their faces. That stopped them. Very solemnly,Bucky and I checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts.Bucky yawned and stretched sleepily. Now? he said. Now, I said. We had a lot of fun. Some of the boys inside the ship came out to joinin. We raised a lot of dust and nobody got killed, quite. We all wenthome happy. They had their money, and we had their blood. The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and thegreen girl from Tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and Zurt themuscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkersand joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in thepassageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose.They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I'verewarded them. I said, Sure, rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed. Let's go see Gertrude. I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny goinginto the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a cityguy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. ButBucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged. Okay. But just for a minute. Then we go beddy-bye. You're a pal, Jif. Bes' li'l' guy inna worl'.... The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall downthe ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't....Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends? It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there wasa dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started downthe long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks andcompression units. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn'tnear as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It'sthe smell, I think; rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them,breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walledaround them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, andthen wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again.A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell,ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall. It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the sametime. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name Icould think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a greatmetallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gowhad them nicely conditioned to that gong. <doc-sep>But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feelthem inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared ofthem. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought—like I wantedto put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night,all of a sudden.... Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. She's gettin'worse, he said. She's lonesome. That's tough, said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like anowl's. He swayed slightly. That's sure tough. He sniffled. I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tankand even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking adeep breath. I don't know if you've ever seen a cansin . There's onlytwo of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say willmake much difference. They're what the brain gang calls an end of evolution. Seems oldDame Nature had an idea that didn't jell. The cansins were prettysuccessful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works andnow there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where eventhe Venusians hardly ever go. Living fossils. I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stucksome place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a littlebird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cagewith her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky headsunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything.Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire. The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made themane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyesclear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked likeold Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. Gow said softly, She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one. Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, Be reasonable, Gow!Nobody's ever seen a male cansin . There may not even be any. Gertrude screamed again. She didn't move, not even to raise her head.The sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. Thatclose, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and coldinside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, You'll have to snap her out ofthis, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts. He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stoodlooking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then heturned to Gertrude. I saved her life, he said. When we bought her out of Hanak's wreckand everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I knowher. I can do things with her. But this time.... He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like awoman's talking about a sick child. This time, he said, I ain't sure. Well for Pete's sake, do what you can. We got a charter, and we needher. I took Shannon's arm. Come to bed, Bucky darlin'. He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look atus. Bucky sobbed. You were right, Jig, he mumbled. Circus is no good. I know it. Butit's all I got. I love it, Jig. Unnerstan' me? Like Gow there withGertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love.... Sure, sure, I told him. Stop crying down my neck. We were a long way from the light, then. The cages and tanks loomedhigh and black over us. It was still. The secret, uneasy motion allaround us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller. Bucky was almost asleep on me. I started to slap him. And then the mistrose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintlywith blue, cold fire. I yelled, Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake! I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limpand heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans androars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it allI could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wantsto kill us! I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. Isobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. One of Bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. We fell. Irolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in thehollow of his shoulder. The first snake touched me. It was like a live wire, sliding along theback of my neck. I screamed. It came down along my cheek, hunting mymouth. There were more of them, burning me through my clothes. Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking,This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared! Then I went out. II Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. Hislittle brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of histeeth, and he gummed thak -weed. It smelt. You pretty, Mis' Jig, he giggled. You funny like hell. He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him andsaid, Where's Shannon? How is he? Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow comenickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell! I said, Yeah, and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell downa couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over thewashstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damnedsnakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotchplaid. I felt sick. Bucky Shannon opened the door. He looked white and grim, and there wasa big burn across his neck. He said: Beamish is here with his lawyer. I picked up my shirt. Right with you. Kanza went out, still giggling. Bucky closed the door. Jig, he said, those vapor worms were all right when we went in.Somebody followed us down and let them out. On purpose. I hurt all over. I growled, With that brain, son, you should go far.Nobody saw anything, of course? Bucky shook his head. Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why? Beamish. He realizes he's been gypped. One hundred U.C.'s, said Bucky softly, for a few lousy swampedgemining camps. It stinks, Jig. You think we should back out? I shrugged. You're the boss man. I'm only the guy that beats off thecreditors. Yeah, Bucky said reflectively. And I hear starvation isn't acomfortable death. Okay, Jig. Let's go sign. He put his hand on thelatch and looked at my feet. And—uh—Jig, I.... I said, Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all! We had a nasty trip to Venus. Gertrude kept the brute tank on edge,and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around lookinglike a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovianstrong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat hadkittens. Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. Itlived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes outof their pants. Circus people are funny that way. Shannon and I did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time.Anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. Itdidn't help any to know that somebody, maybe the guy next to you atdinner, was busy thinking ways to kill you. By the time we hit Venus, Iwas ready to do a Brodie out the refuse chute. Shannon set the crate down on the edge of Nahru, the first stop on ouritinerary. I stood beside him, looking out the ports at the scenery. Itwas Venus, all right. Blue mud and thick green jungle and rain, and abunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middleof it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look. I saw Beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, andour router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned. A blue one, Jig. A morgue if I ever saw one! I snarled, What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show! andwent out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but theyweren't happy. You get so you can feel those things. The steamy Venusheat was already sneaking into the ship. While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude,screaming. <doc-sep>The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing inthe mud. The paste brigade was heading for the shacks. Shannon and Istood with the hot rain running off our slickers, looking. I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman wasstanding in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and hertriangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. She didn't have anything onbut her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn'tsound nice. You find a lot of Nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks withthe electric power they carry in their own bodies. They're Venusianmiddle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it. Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed withwhite reptilian teeth. Death, she whispered. Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I cansmell it in the swamp wind. The hot rain sluiced over her. She shivered, and the pale skin underher jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red. The deep swamps are angry, she whispered. Something has been taken.They are angry, and I smell death in the wind! She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tightand cold. Bucky said, Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump. We weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landingfield when a man came out of a shack on the edge of the settlement. Wecould see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd. He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three orfour tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. Bucky said, Jig—it's Sam Kapper. We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeledaround to see what was happening. People began to close in on the manwho crawled and whimpered in the mud. Sam Kapper was a hunter, supplying animals to zoos and circuses andcarnivals. He'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren'ttoo broke, and we were pretty friendly. I hadn't seen him for three seasons. I remembered him as a bronzed,hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. I felt sick,looking down at him. Bucky started to help him up. Kapper was crying, and he jerked all overlike animals I've seen that were scared to death. Some guy leaned overand put a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it for him. I was thinking about Kapper, then, and I didn't pay much attention. Ionly caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. I didn'trealize until later that he looked familiar. We got Kapper inside the shack. It turned out to be a cheap bar, with acouple of curtained booths at the back. We got him into one and pulledthe curtain in a lot of curious faces. Kapper dragged hard on thecigarette. The man that gave it to him was gone. Bucky said gently, Okay, Sam. Relax. What's the trouble? <doc-sep>Kapper tried to straighten up. He hadn't shaved. The lean hard linesof his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. He was coveredwith mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's. He said thickly, I found it. I said I'd do it, and I did. I found itand brought it out. The cigarette stub fell out of his mouth. He didn't notice it. Helpme, he said simply. I'm scared. His mouth drooled. I got it hidden. They want to find out, but I won't tell 'em. It'sgot to go back. Back where I found it. I tried to take it, but theywouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it.... He reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. I don't knowhow they found out about it, but they did. I've got to get it back.I've got to.... Bucky looked at me. Kapper was blue around the mouth. I was scared,suddenly. I said, Get what back where? Bucky got up. I'll get a doctor, he said. Stick with him. Kappergrabbed his wrist. Kapper's nails were blue and the cords in his handsstood out like guy wires. Don't leave me. Got to tell you—where it is. Got to take it back.Promise you'll take it back. He gasped and struggled over hisbreathing. Sure, said Bucky. Sure, well take it back. What is it? Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight forair. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was nouse. Kapper whispered, Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back. Where is it, Sam? I reached across Bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. Beamishwas standing there. Beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. Kappermade a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. Beamish never changed expression. He didn't move while Bucky feltKapper's pulse. Bucky didn't need to say anything. We knew. Heart? said Beamish finally. Yeah, said Bucky. He looked as bad as I felt. Poor Sam. I looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. I looked atBeamish with his round dead baby face. I climbed over Shannon andpushed Beamish suddenly down into his lap. Keep this guy here till I get back, I said. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. Shut up, Itold him. We got a contract. I yanked the curtains shut and walkedover to the bar. I began to notice something, then. There were quite a lot of men in theplace. At first glance they looked okay—a hard-faced, muscular bunchof miners in dirty shirts and high boots. Then I looked at their hands. They were dirty enough. But they neverdid any work in a mine, on Venus or anywhere else. The place was awfully quiet, for that kind of a place. The bartenderwas a big pot-bellied swamp-edger with pale eyes and thick white haircoiled up on top of his bullet head. He was not happy. I leaned on the bar. Lhak , I said. He poured it, sullenly, out of agreen bottle. I reached for it, casually. That guy we brought in, I said. He sure has a skinful. Passed outcold. What's he been spiking his drinks with? Selak , said a voice in my ear. As if you didn't know. I turned. The man who had given Kapper the cigarette was standingbehind me. And I remembered him, then. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Bucky Shannon, a space circus owner, and his business manager, Jig Bentley, have a dispute over the business' financial hardships. Suddenly, a little man interferes. Mistaking him for a bill-collector, Bucky starts a fight, when Jig notices money in the man's hands. Simon Beamish, the little man, is planning to invest in the circus and make its tour to other towns. He agrees to pay much more than the real cost is, Bucky and Jig suspect some kind of a game there, but they need money. The two go to their circus and are finally able to pay the performers. After having some fun all together, the two go to see Gertrude, a huge cansin, the main attraction, who was earlier reported to be unhappy. Upon entry, Jig feels uneasy, frightened and sorry for Gertrude, who is in desperate need of a mate. The sorrow of this creature makes the whole team sad and uneasy, full of pity, and no one could help, even Gow who saved her and is the closest to her. Exiting her tank, Jig has to carry Bucky, who is crying at the view and falling asleep at the same time. On their way, the two face the Vapor snakes let out by someone, they fall, and the snakes cover their bodies. Gow saves the two and they are burnt but alive, trying to find out who let the snakes out to hurt them and suspecting Beamish. Then the whole gang goes to Venus to meet Beamish, and there is a feeling of discontent coming from the gang and mixed with Gertrude's screams all the way. Further, the Nahali woman from the gang claims to smell death and trouble. Then they meet Sam, a hunter selling them animals until three seasons ago, and now he is crying and scared. Turns out, he has found the only male cansin and wants to take it back to prevent trouble, though he is afraid of people wanting to take the cansin from him. Suddenly, Jig discovers Beamish listening to the conversation and Sam dies. Jig then notices the suspicious silence and too much of a crowd in the bar and recognizes the man who gave Sam a cigarette a while ago.

What are Bucky's and Jig's attitudes towards their circus? [SEP] <s> The Blue Behemoth By LEIGH BRACKETT Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed space-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. It made a one-night pitch on a Venusian swamp-town—to find that death stalked it from the jungle in a tiny ball of flame. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Bucky Shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. Heknocked over the pitcher of thil , but it didn't matter. The pitcherwas empty. He jabbed me in the breastbone with his forefinger, notvery hard. Not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough tospring them. We, he said, are broke. We are finished, through. Washed up anddown the drain. He added, as an afterthought, Destitute. I looked at him. I said sourly, You're kidding! Kidding. Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me througha curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. He saysI'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show inSpace, plastered so thick with attachments.... It's no more plastered than you are. I was sore because he'd been alot quicker grabbing the pitcher. The Greatest Show in Space. Phooey!I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle foreleven years, and I know. It's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down!Nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. In short, it stinks! I must have had the pitcher oftener than I thought. Nobody insultsBuckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's faceunless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see hisgrey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martiangirl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch theslanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing roundtoward us, pleased and kind of hungry. I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven toShannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. I said, Bucky. Hold on, fella. I.... Somebody said, Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister BuckhalterShannon? Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiledpleasantly and said, very gently: Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel? I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even ifhe was a lousy bill-collecter; and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannonsettled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressedin dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering ofgrey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfullyclean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trustwith their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad. There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with paleblue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's. He said, I don't think you understand. I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chairback. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. Igot my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. Bucky Shannon sighed,and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc. Then I saw what the little guy was holding in his hand. I yelled and knocked the table over into Bucky. It made a lot of noise.It knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up,quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed. Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. What's eating you,Jig? I'm not going to hurt him. Shut up, I said. Look what he's got there. Money! The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. Yes, he said.Money. Quite a lot of it. Would you gentlemen permit me to join you? Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. Delighted. I'mShannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager. He looked down atthe table. I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity. The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his facestayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a startthat it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan Iever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any morethan you could see through sheet metal. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said,Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, lookinglike hungry cats at a mouse-hole. The little guy nodded. Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. SimonBeamish. I wish to—ah—charter your circus. <doc-sep>I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn'tsay anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a freshpitcher of thil on the table. Then I cleared my throat. What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish? Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. I haveindependent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lightenthe burden of life for those less fortunate.... Bucky got red around the ears. Just a minute, he murmured, andstarted to get up. I kicked him under the table. Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish. He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamishignored him. He went on, quietly, I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the mostvaluable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation oftoil and boredom.... I said, Sure, sure. But what was your idea? There are many towns along the Venusian frontiers where noentertainment of the— proper sort has been available. I propose toremedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to makea tour of several settlements along the Tehara Belt. Bucky had relaxed. His grey-green eyes began to gleam. He started tospeak, and I kicked him again. That would be expensive, Mister Beamish, I said. We'd have to cancelseveral engagements.... He looked at me. I was lying, and he knew it. But he said, I quite understand that. I would be prepared.... The curtains were yanked back suddenly. Beamish shut up. Bucky and Iglared at the head and shoulders poking in between the drapes. It was Gow, our zoo-man—a big, ugly son-of-a-gun from a Terrancolony on Mercury. I was there once. Gow looks a lot like thescenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding thecurtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much largerthan the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. He said, Boss, Gertrude's actin' up again. Gertrude be blowed, growled Bucky. Can't you see I'm busy? Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrudeain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something.... I said, That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now. He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber tofit me for a coffin. Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome,see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-potship'll hold her. He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamishcleared his throat and said, rather stiffly, Gertrude? Yeah. She's kind of temperamental. Bucky took a quick drink. Ifinished for him. She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swampVenusian cansin . The only other one on the Triangle belongs to SavittBrothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude. She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may bea little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped shewouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-lookingcircus than even I could stand. Beamish looked impressed. A cansin . Well, well! The mysterysurrounding the origin and species of the cansin is a fascinatingsubject. The extreme rarity of the animal.... We were getting off the subject. I said tactfully, We'd have to haveat least a hundred U.C.'s. It was twice what we had any right to ask. I was prepared to dicker.Beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. For a fraction of asecond I thought I saw something back of his round blue eyes, and mystomach jumped like it was shot. Beamish smiled sweetly. I'm not much of a bargainer. One hundred Universal Credits will beagreeable to me. He dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeledoff half a dozen credit slips, and laid them on the table. By way of a retainer, gentleman. My attorney and I will call on you inthe morning with a contract and itinerary. Good night. We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky madegrab for the money, but I beat him to it. Scram, I said. There are guys waiting for this. Big guys with clubs.Here. I gave him a small-denomination slip I'd been holding out. Wecan get lushed enough on this. Shannon has a good vocabulary. He used it. When he got his breath backhe said suddenly, Beamish is pulling some kind of a game. Yeah. It may be crooked. Sure. And he may be screwball and on the level. For Pete's sake! Iyelled. You want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away? Shannon looked at me, kind of funny. He looked at the bulge in my tunicwhere the roll was. He raked back his thick light hair. Yeah, he said. I hope there'll be enough left to bribe the jury. Hepoked his head outside. Hey, boy! More thildatum ! <doc-sep>It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport whereShannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Lateas it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sittingaround and smoking and looking very ugly. It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restlessunder the two moons. There's a smell to Mars, like something dead anddried long past decay, but still waiting. An unhappy smell. The blownred dust gritted in my teeth. Bucky Shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance tothe roped-off space around the main lock. He was pretty steady on hisfeet. He waved and said, Hiya, boys. They got up off the steps, and the packing cases, and came toward us. Igrinned and got into my brassies. We felt we owed those boys a lot morethan money. It grates on a man's pride to have to sneak in and out ofhis own property through the sewage lock. This was the first time inweeks we'd come in at the front door. I waved the money in their faces. That stopped them. Very solemnly,Bucky and I checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts.Bucky yawned and stretched sleepily. Now? he said. Now, I said. We had a lot of fun. Some of the boys inside the ship came out to joinin. We raised a lot of dust and nobody got killed, quite. We all wenthome happy. They had their money, and we had their blood. The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and thegreen girl from Tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and Zurt themuscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkersand joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in thepassageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose.They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I'verewarded them. I said, Sure, rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed. Let's go see Gertrude. I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny goinginto the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a cityguy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. ButBucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged. Okay. But just for a minute. Then we go beddy-bye. You're a pal, Jif. Bes' li'l' guy inna worl'.... The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall downthe ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't....Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends? It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there wasa dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started downthe long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks andcompression units. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn'tnear as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It'sthe smell, I think; rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them,breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walledaround them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, andthen wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again.A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell,ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall. It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the sametime. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name Icould think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a greatmetallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gowhad them nicely conditioned to that gong. <doc-sep>But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feelthem inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared ofthem. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought—like I wantedto put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night,all of a sudden.... Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. She's gettin'worse, he said. She's lonesome. That's tough, said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like anowl's. He swayed slightly. That's sure tough. He sniffled. I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tankand even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking adeep breath. I don't know if you've ever seen a cansin . There's onlytwo of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say willmake much difference. They're what the brain gang calls an end of evolution. Seems oldDame Nature had an idea that didn't jell. The cansins were prettysuccessful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works andnow there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where eventhe Venusians hardly ever go. Living fossils. I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stucksome place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a littlebird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cagewith her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky headsunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything.Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire. The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made themane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyesclear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked likeold Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. Gow said softly, She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one. Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, Be reasonable, Gow!Nobody's ever seen a male cansin . There may not even be any. Gertrude screamed again. She didn't move, not even to raise her head.The sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. Thatclose, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and coldinside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, You'll have to snap her out ofthis, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts. He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stoodlooking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then heturned to Gertrude. I saved her life, he said. When we bought her out of Hanak's wreckand everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I knowher. I can do things with her. But this time.... He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like awoman's talking about a sick child. This time, he said, I ain't sure. Well for Pete's sake, do what you can. We got a charter, and we needher. I took Shannon's arm. Come to bed, Bucky darlin'. He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look atus. Bucky sobbed. You were right, Jig, he mumbled. Circus is no good. I know it. Butit's all I got. I love it, Jig. Unnerstan' me? Like Gow there withGertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love.... Sure, sure, I told him. Stop crying down my neck. We were a long way from the light, then. The cages and tanks loomedhigh and black over us. It was still. The secret, uneasy motion allaround us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller. Bucky was almost asleep on me. I started to slap him. And then the mistrose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintlywith blue, cold fire. I yelled, Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake! I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limpand heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans androars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it allI could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wantsto kill us! I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. Isobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. One of Bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. We fell. Irolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in thehollow of his shoulder. The first snake touched me. It was like a live wire, sliding along theback of my neck. I screamed. It came down along my cheek, hunting mymouth. There were more of them, burning me through my clothes. Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking,This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared! Then I went out. II Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. Hislittle brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of histeeth, and he gummed thak -weed. It smelt. You pretty, Mis' Jig, he giggled. You funny like hell. He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him andsaid, Where's Shannon? How is he? Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow comenickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell! I said, Yeah, and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell downa couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over thewashstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damnedsnakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotchplaid. I felt sick. Bucky Shannon opened the door. He looked white and grim, and there wasa big burn across his neck. He said: Beamish is here with his lawyer. I picked up my shirt. Right with you. Kanza went out, still giggling. Bucky closed the door. Jig, he said, those vapor worms were all right when we went in.Somebody followed us down and let them out. On purpose. I hurt all over. I growled, With that brain, son, you should go far.Nobody saw anything, of course? Bucky shook his head. Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why? Beamish. He realizes he's been gypped. One hundred U.C.'s, said Bucky softly, for a few lousy swampedgemining camps. It stinks, Jig. You think we should back out? I shrugged. You're the boss man. I'm only the guy that beats off thecreditors. Yeah, Bucky said reflectively. And I hear starvation isn't acomfortable death. Okay, Jig. Let's go sign. He put his hand on thelatch and looked at my feet. And—uh—Jig, I.... I said, Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all! We had a nasty trip to Venus. Gertrude kept the brute tank on edge,and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around lookinglike a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovianstrong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat hadkittens. Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. Itlived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes outof their pants. Circus people are funny that way. Shannon and I did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time.Anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. Itdidn't help any to know that somebody, maybe the guy next to you atdinner, was busy thinking ways to kill you. By the time we hit Venus, Iwas ready to do a Brodie out the refuse chute. Shannon set the crate down on the edge of Nahru, the first stop on ouritinerary. I stood beside him, looking out the ports at the scenery. Itwas Venus, all right. Blue mud and thick green jungle and rain, and abunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middleof it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look. I saw Beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, andour router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned. A blue one, Jig. A morgue if I ever saw one! I snarled, What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show! andwent out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but theyweren't happy. You get so you can feel those things. The steamy Venusheat was already sneaking into the ship. While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude,screaming. <doc-sep>The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing inthe mud. The paste brigade was heading for the shacks. Shannon and Istood with the hot rain running off our slickers, looking. I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman wasstanding in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and hertriangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. She didn't have anything onbut her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn'tsound nice. You find a lot of Nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks withthe electric power they carry in their own bodies. They're Venusianmiddle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it. Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed withwhite reptilian teeth. Death, she whispered. Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I cansmell it in the swamp wind. The hot rain sluiced over her. She shivered, and the pale skin underher jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red. The deep swamps are angry, she whispered. Something has been taken.They are angry, and I smell death in the wind! She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tightand cold. Bucky said, Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump. We weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landingfield when a man came out of a shack on the edge of the settlement. Wecould see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd. He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three orfour tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. Bucky said, Jig—it's Sam Kapper. We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeledaround to see what was happening. People began to close in on the manwho crawled and whimpered in the mud. Sam Kapper was a hunter, supplying animals to zoos and circuses andcarnivals. He'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren'ttoo broke, and we were pretty friendly. I hadn't seen him for three seasons. I remembered him as a bronzed,hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. I felt sick,looking down at him. Bucky started to help him up. Kapper was crying, and he jerked all overlike animals I've seen that were scared to death. Some guy leaned overand put a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it for him. I was thinking about Kapper, then, and I didn't pay much attention. Ionly caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. I didn'trealize until later that he looked familiar. We got Kapper inside the shack. It turned out to be a cheap bar, with acouple of curtained booths at the back. We got him into one and pulledthe curtain in a lot of curious faces. Kapper dragged hard on thecigarette. The man that gave it to him was gone. Bucky said gently, Okay, Sam. Relax. What's the trouble? <doc-sep>Kapper tried to straighten up. He hadn't shaved. The lean hard linesof his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. He was coveredwith mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's. He said thickly, I found it. I said I'd do it, and I did. I found itand brought it out. The cigarette stub fell out of his mouth. He didn't notice it. Helpme, he said simply. I'm scared. His mouth drooled. I got it hidden. They want to find out, but I won't tell 'em. It'sgot to go back. Back where I found it. I tried to take it, but theywouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it.... He reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. I don't knowhow they found out about it, but they did. I've got to get it back.I've got to.... Bucky looked at me. Kapper was blue around the mouth. I was scared,suddenly. I said, Get what back where? Bucky got up. I'll get a doctor, he said. Stick with him. Kappergrabbed his wrist. Kapper's nails were blue and the cords in his handsstood out like guy wires. Don't leave me. Got to tell you—where it is. Got to take it back.Promise you'll take it back. He gasped and struggled over hisbreathing. Sure, said Bucky. Sure, well take it back. What is it? Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight forair. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was nouse. Kapper whispered, Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back. Where is it, Sam? I reached across Bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. Beamishwas standing there. Beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. Kappermade a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. Beamish never changed expression. He didn't move while Bucky feltKapper's pulse. Bucky didn't need to say anything. We knew. Heart? said Beamish finally. Yeah, said Bucky. He looked as bad as I felt. Poor Sam. I looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. I looked atBeamish with his round dead baby face. I climbed over Shannon andpushed Beamish suddenly down into his lap. Keep this guy here till I get back, I said. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. Shut up, Itold him. We got a contract. I yanked the curtains shut and walkedover to the bar. I began to notice something, then. There were quite a lot of men in theplace. At first glance they looked okay—a hard-faced, muscular bunchof miners in dirty shirts and high boots. Then I looked at their hands. They were dirty enough. But they neverdid any work in a mine, on Venus or anywhere else. The place was awfully quiet, for that kind of a place. The bartenderwas a big pot-bellied swamp-edger with pale eyes and thick white haircoiled up on top of his bullet head. He was not happy. I leaned on the bar. Lhak , I said. He poured it, sullenly, out of agreen bottle. I reached for it, casually. That guy we brought in, I said. He sure has a skinful. Passed outcold. What's he been spiking his drinks with? Selak , said a voice in my ear. As if you didn't know. I turned. The man who had given Kapper the cigarette was standingbehind me. And I remembered him, then. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are Bucky's and Jig's attitudes towards their circus?

Bucky, the owner, is of a rather idealistic opinion of the circus. He considers it great and he loves the participants as they are loyal and good. Jig is rather realistic, he knows the circus is broken and lousy, with Gertrude, the huge cansin, being the only worthy creature, though even she is old. Jig is also not that fond of many creatures, he sees them as ugly, some scary, some absurd. The state of Gertrude made Bucky cry, and soon he confessed that he actually knows that the circus is not great, but he loves it no matter what. Jig tried to be practical and asked Gow to snap Gertrude out of this state for the good of the circus. Nevertheless, even Jig was touched by the creature's appearance and gaze full of grief, her screams made him tremble. The Nahali woman, claiming to smell death, made Jig feel anxious and scared. Throughout the story Jig keeps feeling uneasy around the creatures and tries to avoid them, limiting the interactions to business. Bucky, at the same time, sympathizes with them and tries to get closer.

What happens to Jig throughout the story? [SEP] <s> The Blue Behemoth By LEIGH BRACKETT Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed space-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. It made a one-night pitch on a Venusian swamp-town—to find that death stalked it from the jungle in a tiny ball of flame. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Bucky Shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. Heknocked over the pitcher of thil , but it didn't matter. The pitcherwas empty. He jabbed me in the breastbone with his forefinger, notvery hard. Not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough tospring them. We, he said, are broke. We are finished, through. Washed up anddown the drain. He added, as an afterthought, Destitute. I looked at him. I said sourly, You're kidding! Kidding. Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me througha curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. He saysI'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show inSpace, plastered so thick with attachments.... It's no more plastered than you are. I was sore because he'd been alot quicker grabbing the pitcher. The Greatest Show in Space. Phooey!I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle foreleven years, and I know. It's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down!Nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. In short, it stinks! I must have had the pitcher oftener than I thought. Nobody insultsBuckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's faceunless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see hisgrey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martiangirl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch theslanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing roundtoward us, pleased and kind of hungry. I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven toShannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. I said, Bucky. Hold on, fella. I.... Somebody said, Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister BuckhalterShannon? Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiledpleasantly and said, very gently: Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel? I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even ifhe was a lousy bill-collecter; and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannonsettled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressedin dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering ofgrey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfullyclean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trustwith their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad. There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with paleblue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's. He said, I don't think you understand. I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chairback. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. Igot my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. Bucky Shannon sighed,and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc. Then I saw what the little guy was holding in his hand. I yelled and knocked the table over into Bucky. It made a lot of noise.It knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up,quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed. Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. What's eating you,Jig? I'm not going to hurt him. Shut up, I said. Look what he's got there. Money! The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. Yes, he said.Money. Quite a lot of it. Would you gentlemen permit me to join you? Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. Delighted. I'mShannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager. He looked down atthe table. I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity. The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his facestayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a startthat it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan Iever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any morethan you could see through sheet metal. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said,Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, lookinglike hungry cats at a mouse-hole. The little guy nodded. Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. SimonBeamish. I wish to—ah—charter your circus. <doc-sep>I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn'tsay anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a freshpitcher of thil on the table. Then I cleared my throat. What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish? Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. I haveindependent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lightenthe burden of life for those less fortunate.... Bucky got red around the ears. Just a minute, he murmured, andstarted to get up. I kicked him under the table. Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish. He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamishignored him. He went on, quietly, I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the mostvaluable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation oftoil and boredom.... I said, Sure, sure. But what was your idea? There are many towns along the Venusian frontiers where noentertainment of the— proper sort has been available. I propose toremedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to makea tour of several settlements along the Tehara Belt. Bucky had relaxed. His grey-green eyes began to gleam. He started tospeak, and I kicked him again. That would be expensive, Mister Beamish, I said. We'd have to cancelseveral engagements.... He looked at me. I was lying, and he knew it. But he said, I quite understand that. I would be prepared.... The curtains were yanked back suddenly. Beamish shut up. Bucky and Iglared at the head and shoulders poking in between the drapes. It was Gow, our zoo-man—a big, ugly son-of-a-gun from a Terrancolony on Mercury. I was there once. Gow looks a lot like thescenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding thecurtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much largerthan the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. He said, Boss, Gertrude's actin' up again. Gertrude be blowed, growled Bucky. Can't you see I'm busy? Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrudeain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something.... I said, That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now. He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber tofit me for a coffin. Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome,see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-potship'll hold her. He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamishcleared his throat and said, rather stiffly, Gertrude? Yeah. She's kind of temperamental. Bucky took a quick drink. Ifinished for him. She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swampVenusian cansin . The only other one on the Triangle belongs to SavittBrothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude. She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may bea little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped shewouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-lookingcircus than even I could stand. Beamish looked impressed. A cansin . Well, well! The mysterysurrounding the origin and species of the cansin is a fascinatingsubject. The extreme rarity of the animal.... We were getting off the subject. I said tactfully, We'd have to haveat least a hundred U.C.'s. It was twice what we had any right to ask. I was prepared to dicker.Beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. For a fraction of asecond I thought I saw something back of his round blue eyes, and mystomach jumped like it was shot. Beamish smiled sweetly. I'm not much of a bargainer. One hundred Universal Credits will beagreeable to me. He dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeledoff half a dozen credit slips, and laid them on the table. By way of a retainer, gentleman. My attorney and I will call on you inthe morning with a contract and itinerary. Good night. We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky madegrab for the money, but I beat him to it. Scram, I said. There are guys waiting for this. Big guys with clubs.Here. I gave him a small-denomination slip I'd been holding out. Wecan get lushed enough on this. Shannon has a good vocabulary. He used it. When he got his breath backhe said suddenly, Beamish is pulling some kind of a game. Yeah. It may be crooked. Sure. And he may be screwball and on the level. For Pete's sake! Iyelled. You want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away? Shannon looked at me, kind of funny. He looked at the bulge in my tunicwhere the roll was. He raked back his thick light hair. Yeah, he said. I hope there'll be enough left to bribe the jury. Hepoked his head outside. Hey, boy! More thildatum ! <doc-sep>It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport whereShannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Lateas it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sittingaround and smoking and looking very ugly. It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restlessunder the two moons. There's a smell to Mars, like something dead anddried long past decay, but still waiting. An unhappy smell. The blownred dust gritted in my teeth. Bucky Shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance tothe roped-off space around the main lock. He was pretty steady on hisfeet. He waved and said, Hiya, boys. They got up off the steps, and the packing cases, and came toward us. Igrinned and got into my brassies. We felt we owed those boys a lot morethan money. It grates on a man's pride to have to sneak in and out ofhis own property through the sewage lock. This was the first time inweeks we'd come in at the front door. I waved the money in their faces. That stopped them. Very solemnly,Bucky and I checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts.Bucky yawned and stretched sleepily. Now? he said. Now, I said. We had a lot of fun. Some of the boys inside the ship came out to joinin. We raised a lot of dust and nobody got killed, quite. We all wenthome happy. They had their money, and we had their blood. The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and thegreen girl from Tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and Zurt themuscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkersand joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in thepassageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose.They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I'verewarded them. I said, Sure, rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed. Let's go see Gertrude. I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny goinginto the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a cityguy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. ButBucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged. Okay. But just for a minute. Then we go beddy-bye. You're a pal, Jif. Bes' li'l' guy inna worl'.... The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall downthe ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't....Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends? It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there wasa dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started downthe long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks andcompression units. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn'tnear as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It'sthe smell, I think; rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them,breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walledaround them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, andthen wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again.A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell,ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall. It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the sametime. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name Icould think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a greatmetallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gowhad them nicely conditioned to that gong. <doc-sep>But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feelthem inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared ofthem. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought—like I wantedto put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night,all of a sudden.... Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. She's gettin'worse, he said. She's lonesome. That's tough, said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like anowl's. He swayed slightly. That's sure tough. He sniffled. I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tankand even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking adeep breath. I don't know if you've ever seen a cansin . There's onlytwo of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say willmake much difference. They're what the brain gang calls an end of evolution. Seems oldDame Nature had an idea that didn't jell. The cansins were prettysuccessful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works andnow there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where eventhe Venusians hardly ever go. Living fossils. I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stucksome place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a littlebird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cagewith her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky headsunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything.Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire. The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made themane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyesclear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked likeold Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. Gow said softly, She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one. Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, Be reasonable, Gow!Nobody's ever seen a male cansin . There may not even be any. Gertrude screamed again. She didn't move, not even to raise her head.The sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. Thatclose, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and coldinside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, You'll have to snap her out ofthis, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts. He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stoodlooking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then heturned to Gertrude. I saved her life, he said. When we bought her out of Hanak's wreckand everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I knowher. I can do things with her. But this time.... He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like awoman's talking about a sick child. This time, he said, I ain't sure. Well for Pete's sake, do what you can. We got a charter, and we needher. I took Shannon's arm. Come to bed, Bucky darlin'. He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look atus. Bucky sobbed. You were right, Jig, he mumbled. Circus is no good. I know it. Butit's all I got. I love it, Jig. Unnerstan' me? Like Gow there withGertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love.... Sure, sure, I told him. Stop crying down my neck. We were a long way from the light, then. The cages and tanks loomedhigh and black over us. It was still. The secret, uneasy motion allaround us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller. Bucky was almost asleep on me. I started to slap him. And then the mistrose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintlywith blue, cold fire. I yelled, Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake! I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limpand heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans androars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it allI could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wantsto kill us! I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. Isobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. One of Bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. We fell. Irolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in thehollow of his shoulder. The first snake touched me. It was like a live wire, sliding along theback of my neck. I screamed. It came down along my cheek, hunting mymouth. There were more of them, burning me through my clothes. Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking,This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared! Then I went out. II Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. Hislittle brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of histeeth, and he gummed thak -weed. It smelt. You pretty, Mis' Jig, he giggled. You funny like hell. He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him andsaid, Where's Shannon? How is he? Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow comenickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell! I said, Yeah, and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell downa couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over thewashstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damnedsnakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotchplaid. I felt sick. Bucky Shannon opened the door. He looked white and grim, and there wasa big burn across his neck. He said: Beamish is here with his lawyer. I picked up my shirt. Right with you. Kanza went out, still giggling. Bucky closed the door. Jig, he said, those vapor worms were all right when we went in.Somebody followed us down and let them out. On purpose. I hurt all over. I growled, With that brain, son, you should go far.Nobody saw anything, of course? Bucky shook his head. Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why? Beamish. He realizes he's been gypped. One hundred U.C.'s, said Bucky softly, for a few lousy swampedgemining camps. It stinks, Jig. You think we should back out? I shrugged. You're the boss man. I'm only the guy that beats off thecreditors. Yeah, Bucky said reflectively. And I hear starvation isn't acomfortable death. Okay, Jig. Let's go sign. He put his hand on thelatch and looked at my feet. And—uh—Jig, I.... I said, Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all! We had a nasty trip to Venus. Gertrude kept the brute tank on edge,and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around lookinglike a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovianstrong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat hadkittens. Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. Itlived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes outof their pants. Circus people are funny that way. Shannon and I did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time.Anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. Itdidn't help any to know that somebody, maybe the guy next to you atdinner, was busy thinking ways to kill you. By the time we hit Venus, Iwas ready to do a Brodie out the refuse chute. Shannon set the crate down on the edge of Nahru, the first stop on ouritinerary. I stood beside him, looking out the ports at the scenery. Itwas Venus, all right. Blue mud and thick green jungle and rain, and abunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middleof it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look. I saw Beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, andour router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned. A blue one, Jig. A morgue if I ever saw one! I snarled, What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show! andwent out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but theyweren't happy. You get so you can feel those things. The steamy Venusheat was already sneaking into the ship. While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude,screaming. <doc-sep>The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing inthe mud. The paste brigade was heading for the shacks. Shannon and Istood with the hot rain running off our slickers, looking. I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman wasstanding in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and hertriangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. She didn't have anything onbut her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn'tsound nice. You find a lot of Nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks withthe electric power they carry in their own bodies. They're Venusianmiddle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it. Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed withwhite reptilian teeth. Death, she whispered. Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I cansmell it in the swamp wind. The hot rain sluiced over her. She shivered, and the pale skin underher jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red. The deep swamps are angry, she whispered. Something has been taken.They are angry, and I smell death in the wind! She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tightand cold. Bucky said, Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump. We weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landingfield when a man came out of a shack on the edge of the settlement. Wecould see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd. He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three orfour tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. Bucky said, Jig—it's Sam Kapper. We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeledaround to see what was happening. People began to close in on the manwho crawled and whimpered in the mud. Sam Kapper was a hunter, supplying animals to zoos and circuses andcarnivals. He'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren'ttoo broke, and we were pretty friendly. I hadn't seen him for three seasons. I remembered him as a bronzed,hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. I felt sick,looking down at him. Bucky started to help him up. Kapper was crying, and he jerked all overlike animals I've seen that were scared to death. Some guy leaned overand put a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it for him. I was thinking about Kapper, then, and I didn't pay much attention. Ionly caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. I didn'trealize until later that he looked familiar. We got Kapper inside the shack. It turned out to be a cheap bar, with acouple of curtained booths at the back. We got him into one and pulledthe curtain in a lot of curious faces. Kapper dragged hard on thecigarette. The man that gave it to him was gone. Bucky said gently, Okay, Sam. Relax. What's the trouble? <doc-sep>Kapper tried to straighten up. He hadn't shaved. The lean hard linesof his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. He was coveredwith mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's. He said thickly, I found it. I said I'd do it, and I did. I found itand brought it out. The cigarette stub fell out of his mouth. He didn't notice it. Helpme, he said simply. I'm scared. His mouth drooled. I got it hidden. They want to find out, but I won't tell 'em. It'sgot to go back. Back where I found it. I tried to take it, but theywouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it.... He reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. I don't knowhow they found out about it, but they did. I've got to get it back.I've got to.... Bucky looked at me. Kapper was blue around the mouth. I was scared,suddenly. I said, Get what back where? Bucky got up. I'll get a doctor, he said. Stick with him. Kappergrabbed his wrist. Kapper's nails were blue and the cords in his handsstood out like guy wires. Don't leave me. Got to tell you—where it is. Got to take it back.Promise you'll take it back. He gasped and struggled over hisbreathing. Sure, said Bucky. Sure, well take it back. What is it? Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight forair. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was nouse. Kapper whispered, Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back. Where is it, Sam? I reached across Bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. Beamishwas standing there. Beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. Kappermade a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. Beamish never changed expression. He didn't move while Bucky feltKapper's pulse. Bucky didn't need to say anything. We knew. Heart? said Beamish finally. Yeah, said Bucky. He looked as bad as I felt. Poor Sam. I looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. I looked atBeamish with his round dead baby face. I climbed over Shannon andpushed Beamish suddenly down into his lap. Keep this guy here till I get back, I said. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. Shut up, Itold him. We got a contract. I yanked the curtains shut and walkedover to the bar. I began to notice something, then. There were quite a lot of men in theplace. At first glance they looked okay—a hard-faced, muscular bunchof miners in dirty shirts and high boots. Then I looked at their hands. They were dirty enough. But they neverdid any work in a mine, on Venus or anywhere else. The place was awfully quiet, for that kind of a place. The bartenderwas a big pot-bellied swamp-edger with pale eyes and thick white haircoiled up on top of his bullet head. He was not happy. I leaned on the bar. Lhak , I said. He poured it, sullenly, out of agreen bottle. I reached for it, casually. That guy we brought in, I said. He sure has a skinful. Passed outcold. What's he been spiking his drinks with? Selak , said a voice in my ear. As if you didn't know. I turned. The man who had given Kapper the cigarette was standingbehind me. And I remembered him, then. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What happens to Jig throughout the story?

Jig argues with Bucky, the owner of the circus, whose director is the former. Jig is drunk and is careless enough to insult the circus. He almost gets beaten when a stranger interferes. Jig feels pity towards his savior at first, but then he sees a sum of money in the man’s hands. Jig stops Bucky and the three of them begin to discuss business. Jig tries to show off the circus and asks for more money than it’s worth. He is suspicious of the man, but they make a deal. Then, Jig goes together with Bucky to pay the members of the gang and they have fun. After that, the two friends go to check on Gertrude, the main attraction. The creature’s depressing appearance makes Jig feel uneasy and pitiful, he has to carry Bucky, who is crying and falling asleep, away from the cage. Then both are attacked by Vapor snakes and Jig appears a hero by covering Bucky. He finds himself bitten all over and looking ridiculous, but at least alive. He encounters Bucky and they try to learn who wanted to kill them both. Then they go to Venus to meet Beamish, Jig feels the gang’s unhappiness with the travel, and he feels uneasy himself. The Nahali woman and her death predictions make him even more scared. Then they meet Sam who used to hunt animals for their circus, his terrible appearance makes Jig feel sick. Then together with Bucky, he tries to help the hunter by asking questions in the nearby bar. Jig feels even more scared and sick when Sam starts choking and his mouth gets blue. Jig wants to rush for a doctor, but finds Beamish listening behind the curtain. When Sam dies, Jig starts understanding and suspecting something, he talks to the bartender and suddenly recognizes the man who gave a cigarette to Sam.

What is the significance of Jig and Bucky meeting Beamish on the story? [SEP] <s> The Blue Behemoth By LEIGH BRACKETT Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed space-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. It made a one-night pitch on a Venusian swamp-town—to find that death stalked it from the jungle in a tiny ball of flame. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Bucky Shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. Heknocked over the pitcher of thil , but it didn't matter. The pitcherwas empty. He jabbed me in the breastbone with his forefinger, notvery hard. Not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough tospring them. We, he said, are broke. We are finished, through. Washed up anddown the drain. He added, as an afterthought, Destitute. I looked at him. I said sourly, You're kidding! Kidding. Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me througha curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. He saysI'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show inSpace, plastered so thick with attachments.... It's no more plastered than you are. I was sore because he'd been alot quicker grabbing the pitcher. The Greatest Show in Space. Phooey!I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle foreleven years, and I know. It's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down!Nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. In short, it stinks! I must have had the pitcher oftener than I thought. Nobody insultsBuckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's faceunless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see hisgrey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martiangirl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch theslanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing roundtoward us, pleased and kind of hungry. I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven toShannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. I said, Bucky. Hold on, fella. I.... Somebody said, Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister BuckhalterShannon? Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiledpleasantly and said, very gently: Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel? I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even ifhe was a lousy bill-collecter; and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannonsettled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressedin dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering ofgrey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfullyclean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trustwith their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad. There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with paleblue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's. He said, I don't think you understand. I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chairback. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. Igot my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. Bucky Shannon sighed,and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc. Then I saw what the little guy was holding in his hand. I yelled and knocked the table over into Bucky. It made a lot of noise.It knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up,quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed. Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. What's eating you,Jig? I'm not going to hurt him. Shut up, I said. Look what he's got there. Money! The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. Yes, he said.Money. Quite a lot of it. Would you gentlemen permit me to join you? Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. Delighted. I'mShannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager. He looked down atthe table. I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity. The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his facestayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a startthat it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan Iever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any morethan you could see through sheet metal. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said,Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, lookinglike hungry cats at a mouse-hole. The little guy nodded. Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. SimonBeamish. I wish to—ah—charter your circus. <doc-sep>I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn'tsay anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a freshpitcher of thil on the table. Then I cleared my throat. What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish? Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. I haveindependent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lightenthe burden of life for those less fortunate.... Bucky got red around the ears. Just a minute, he murmured, andstarted to get up. I kicked him under the table. Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish. He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamishignored him. He went on, quietly, I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the mostvaluable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation oftoil and boredom.... I said, Sure, sure. But what was your idea? There are many towns along the Venusian frontiers where noentertainment of the— proper sort has been available. I propose toremedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to makea tour of several settlements along the Tehara Belt. Bucky had relaxed. His grey-green eyes began to gleam. He started tospeak, and I kicked him again. That would be expensive, Mister Beamish, I said. We'd have to cancelseveral engagements.... He looked at me. I was lying, and he knew it. But he said, I quite understand that. I would be prepared.... The curtains were yanked back suddenly. Beamish shut up. Bucky and Iglared at the head and shoulders poking in between the drapes. It was Gow, our zoo-man—a big, ugly son-of-a-gun from a Terrancolony on Mercury. I was there once. Gow looks a lot like thescenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding thecurtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much largerthan the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. He said, Boss, Gertrude's actin' up again. Gertrude be blowed, growled Bucky. Can't you see I'm busy? Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrudeain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something.... I said, That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now. He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber tofit me for a coffin. Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome,see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-potship'll hold her. He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamishcleared his throat and said, rather stiffly, Gertrude? Yeah. She's kind of temperamental. Bucky took a quick drink. Ifinished for him. She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swampVenusian cansin . The only other one on the Triangle belongs to SavittBrothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude. She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may bea little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped shewouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-lookingcircus than even I could stand. Beamish looked impressed. A cansin . Well, well! The mysterysurrounding the origin and species of the cansin is a fascinatingsubject. The extreme rarity of the animal.... We were getting off the subject. I said tactfully, We'd have to haveat least a hundred U.C.'s. It was twice what we had any right to ask. I was prepared to dicker.Beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. For a fraction of asecond I thought I saw something back of his round blue eyes, and mystomach jumped like it was shot. Beamish smiled sweetly. I'm not much of a bargainer. One hundred Universal Credits will beagreeable to me. He dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeledoff half a dozen credit slips, and laid them on the table. By way of a retainer, gentleman. My attorney and I will call on you inthe morning with a contract and itinerary. Good night. We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky madegrab for the money, but I beat him to it. Scram, I said. There are guys waiting for this. Big guys with clubs.Here. I gave him a small-denomination slip I'd been holding out. Wecan get lushed enough on this. Shannon has a good vocabulary. He used it. When he got his breath backhe said suddenly, Beamish is pulling some kind of a game. Yeah. It may be crooked. Sure. And he may be screwball and on the level. For Pete's sake! Iyelled. You want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away? Shannon looked at me, kind of funny. He looked at the bulge in my tunicwhere the roll was. He raked back his thick light hair. Yeah, he said. I hope there'll be enough left to bribe the jury. Hepoked his head outside. Hey, boy! More thildatum ! <doc-sep>It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport whereShannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Lateas it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sittingaround and smoking and looking very ugly. It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restlessunder the two moons. There's a smell to Mars, like something dead anddried long past decay, but still waiting. An unhappy smell. The blownred dust gritted in my teeth. Bucky Shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance tothe roped-off space around the main lock. He was pretty steady on hisfeet. He waved and said, Hiya, boys. They got up off the steps, and the packing cases, and came toward us. Igrinned and got into my brassies. We felt we owed those boys a lot morethan money. It grates on a man's pride to have to sneak in and out ofhis own property through the sewage lock. This was the first time inweeks we'd come in at the front door. I waved the money in their faces. That stopped them. Very solemnly,Bucky and I checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts.Bucky yawned and stretched sleepily. Now? he said. Now, I said. We had a lot of fun. Some of the boys inside the ship came out to joinin. We raised a lot of dust and nobody got killed, quite. We all wenthome happy. They had their money, and we had their blood. The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and thegreen girl from Tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and Zurt themuscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkersand joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in thepassageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose.They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I'verewarded them. I said, Sure, rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed. Let's go see Gertrude. I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny goinginto the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a cityguy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. ButBucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged. Okay. But just for a minute. Then we go beddy-bye. You're a pal, Jif. Bes' li'l' guy inna worl'.... The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall downthe ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't....Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends? It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there wasa dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started downthe long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks andcompression units. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn'tnear as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It'sthe smell, I think; rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them,breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walledaround them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, andthen wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again.A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell,ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall. It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the sametime. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name Icould think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a greatmetallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gowhad them nicely conditioned to that gong. <doc-sep>But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feelthem inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared ofthem. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought—like I wantedto put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night,all of a sudden.... Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. She's gettin'worse, he said. She's lonesome. That's tough, said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like anowl's. He swayed slightly. That's sure tough. He sniffled. I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tankand even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking adeep breath. I don't know if you've ever seen a cansin . There's onlytwo of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say willmake much difference. They're what the brain gang calls an end of evolution. Seems oldDame Nature had an idea that didn't jell. The cansins were prettysuccessful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works andnow there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where eventhe Venusians hardly ever go. Living fossils. I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stucksome place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a littlebird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cagewith her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky headsunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything.Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire. The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made themane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyesclear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked likeold Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. Gow said softly, She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one. Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, Be reasonable, Gow!Nobody's ever seen a male cansin . There may not even be any. Gertrude screamed again. She didn't move, not even to raise her head.The sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. Thatclose, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and coldinside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, You'll have to snap her out ofthis, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts. He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stoodlooking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then heturned to Gertrude. I saved her life, he said. When we bought her out of Hanak's wreckand everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I knowher. I can do things with her. But this time.... He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like awoman's talking about a sick child. This time, he said, I ain't sure. Well for Pete's sake, do what you can. We got a charter, and we needher. I took Shannon's arm. Come to bed, Bucky darlin'. He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look atus. Bucky sobbed. You were right, Jig, he mumbled. Circus is no good. I know it. Butit's all I got. I love it, Jig. Unnerstan' me? Like Gow there withGertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love.... Sure, sure, I told him. Stop crying down my neck. We were a long way from the light, then. The cages and tanks loomedhigh and black over us. It was still. The secret, uneasy motion allaround us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller. Bucky was almost asleep on me. I started to slap him. And then the mistrose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintlywith blue, cold fire. I yelled, Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake! I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limpand heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans androars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it allI could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wantsto kill us! I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. Isobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. One of Bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. We fell. Irolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in thehollow of his shoulder. The first snake touched me. It was like a live wire, sliding along theback of my neck. I screamed. It came down along my cheek, hunting mymouth. There were more of them, burning me through my clothes. Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking,This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared! Then I went out. II Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. Hislittle brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of histeeth, and he gummed thak -weed. It smelt. You pretty, Mis' Jig, he giggled. You funny like hell. He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him andsaid, Where's Shannon? How is he? Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow comenickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell! I said, Yeah, and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell downa couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over thewashstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damnedsnakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotchplaid. I felt sick. Bucky Shannon opened the door. He looked white and grim, and there wasa big burn across his neck. He said: Beamish is here with his lawyer. I picked up my shirt. Right with you. Kanza went out, still giggling. Bucky closed the door. Jig, he said, those vapor worms were all right when we went in.Somebody followed us down and let them out. On purpose. I hurt all over. I growled, With that brain, son, you should go far.Nobody saw anything, of course? Bucky shook his head. Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why? Beamish. He realizes he's been gypped. One hundred U.C.'s, said Bucky softly, for a few lousy swampedgemining camps. It stinks, Jig. You think we should back out? I shrugged. You're the boss man. I'm only the guy that beats off thecreditors. Yeah, Bucky said reflectively. And I hear starvation isn't acomfortable death. Okay, Jig. Let's go sign. He put his hand on thelatch and looked at my feet. And—uh—Jig, I.... I said, Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all! We had a nasty trip to Venus. Gertrude kept the brute tank on edge,and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around lookinglike a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovianstrong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat hadkittens. Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. Itlived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes outof their pants. Circus people are funny that way. Shannon and I did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time.Anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. Itdidn't help any to know that somebody, maybe the guy next to you atdinner, was busy thinking ways to kill you. By the time we hit Venus, Iwas ready to do a Brodie out the refuse chute. Shannon set the crate down on the edge of Nahru, the first stop on ouritinerary. I stood beside him, looking out the ports at the scenery. Itwas Venus, all right. Blue mud and thick green jungle and rain, and abunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middleof it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look. I saw Beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, andour router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned. A blue one, Jig. A morgue if I ever saw one! I snarled, What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show! andwent out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but theyweren't happy. You get so you can feel those things. The steamy Venusheat was already sneaking into the ship. While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude,screaming. <doc-sep>The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing inthe mud. The paste brigade was heading for the shacks. Shannon and Istood with the hot rain running off our slickers, looking. I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman wasstanding in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and hertriangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. She didn't have anything onbut her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn'tsound nice. You find a lot of Nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks withthe electric power they carry in their own bodies. They're Venusianmiddle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it. Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed withwhite reptilian teeth. Death, she whispered. Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I cansmell it in the swamp wind. The hot rain sluiced over her. She shivered, and the pale skin underher jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red. The deep swamps are angry, she whispered. Something has been taken.They are angry, and I smell death in the wind! She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tightand cold. Bucky said, Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump. We weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landingfield when a man came out of a shack on the edge of the settlement. Wecould see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd. He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three orfour tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. Bucky said, Jig—it's Sam Kapper. We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeledaround to see what was happening. People began to close in on the manwho crawled and whimpered in the mud. Sam Kapper was a hunter, supplying animals to zoos and circuses andcarnivals. He'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren'ttoo broke, and we were pretty friendly. I hadn't seen him for three seasons. I remembered him as a bronzed,hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. I felt sick,looking down at him. Bucky started to help him up. Kapper was crying, and he jerked all overlike animals I've seen that were scared to death. Some guy leaned overand put a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it for him. I was thinking about Kapper, then, and I didn't pay much attention. Ionly caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. I didn'trealize until later that he looked familiar. We got Kapper inside the shack. It turned out to be a cheap bar, with acouple of curtained booths at the back. We got him into one and pulledthe curtain in a lot of curious faces. Kapper dragged hard on thecigarette. The man that gave it to him was gone. Bucky said gently, Okay, Sam. Relax. What's the trouble? <doc-sep>Kapper tried to straighten up. He hadn't shaved. The lean hard linesof his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. He was coveredwith mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's. He said thickly, I found it. I said I'd do it, and I did. I found itand brought it out. The cigarette stub fell out of his mouth. He didn't notice it. Helpme, he said simply. I'm scared. His mouth drooled. I got it hidden. They want to find out, but I won't tell 'em. It'sgot to go back. Back where I found it. I tried to take it, but theywouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it.... He reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. I don't knowhow they found out about it, but they did. I've got to get it back.I've got to.... Bucky looked at me. Kapper was blue around the mouth. I was scared,suddenly. I said, Get what back where? Bucky got up. I'll get a doctor, he said. Stick with him. Kappergrabbed his wrist. Kapper's nails were blue and the cords in his handsstood out like guy wires. Don't leave me. Got to tell you—where it is. Got to take it back.Promise you'll take it back. He gasped and struggled over hisbreathing. Sure, said Bucky. Sure, well take it back. What is it? Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight forair. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was nouse. Kapper whispered, Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back. Where is it, Sam? I reached across Bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. Beamishwas standing there. Beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. Kappermade a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. Beamish never changed expression. He didn't move while Bucky feltKapper's pulse. Bucky didn't need to say anything. We knew. Heart? said Beamish finally. Yeah, said Bucky. He looked as bad as I felt. Poor Sam. I looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. I looked atBeamish with his round dead baby face. I climbed over Shannon andpushed Beamish suddenly down into his lap. Keep this guy here till I get back, I said. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. Shut up, Itold him. We got a contract. I yanked the curtains shut and walkedover to the bar. I began to notice something, then. There were quite a lot of men in theplace. At first glance they looked okay—a hard-faced, muscular bunchof miners in dirty shirts and high boots. Then I looked at their hands. They were dirty enough. But they neverdid any work in a mine, on Venus or anywhere else. The place was awfully quiet, for that kind of a place. The bartenderwas a big pot-bellied swamp-edger with pale eyes and thick white haircoiled up on top of his bullet head. He was not happy. I leaned on the bar. Lhak , I said. He poured it, sullenly, out of agreen bottle. I reached for it, casually. That guy we brought in, I said. He sure has a skinful. Passed outcold. What's he been spiking his drinks with? Selak , said a voice in my ear. As if you didn't know. I turned. The man who had given Kapper the cigarette was standingbehind me. And I remembered him, then. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the significance of Jig and Bucky meeting Beamish on the story?

The first encounter between Beamish and the two occurred when Jig and Bucky were at the point of a fight. Beamish prevented them from this unnecessary action, and soon he saved the circus. The circus was broke, the performers were discontent with not getting their bills, the construction was loose, etc. There would be no tour and existence of the circus overall without this encounter. Being able to pay the gang, Jig and Bucky could show up without being afraid or ashamed to show up in their circus and keep doing business. This encounter was also somehow connected with the attempt to kill the two by letting the vapor snakes out. The trip to Venus in the end was also caused by this encounter, as it was the place where Beamish awaited for his partners and the gang. Therefore, he was somehow connected with them meeting Sam, a hunter supplying animals for the circus, and his eventual weird death. Beamish listening to their dialogue and overall investing in a broke circus creates a suspicion of his actions having some hidden reason. Together with the unhappiness of the gang and one creature smelling death, Beamish's unclear intentions seem scheming and threatening, adding to the intrigue of the whole story.

Describe the setting of the story [SEP] <s> The Blue Behemoth By LEIGH BRACKETT Shannon's Imperial Circus was a jinxed space-carny leased for a mysterious tour of the inner worlds. It made a one-night pitch on a Venusian swamp-town—to find that death stalked it from the jungle in a tiny ball of flame. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1943. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Bucky Shannon leaned forward across the little hexagonal table. Heknocked over the pitcher of thil , but it didn't matter. The pitcherwas empty. He jabbed me in the breastbone with his forefinger, notvery hard. Not hard enough to jar the ribs clean loose, just enough tospring them. We, he said, are broke. We are finished, through. Washed up anddown the drain. He added, as an afterthought, Destitute. I looked at him. I said sourly, You're kidding! Kidding. Shannon put his elbows on the table and peered at me througha curtain of very blond hair that was trying hard to be red. He saysI'm kidding! With Shannon's Imperial Circus, the Greatest Show inSpace, plastered so thick with attachments.... It's no more plastered than you are. I was sore because he'd been alot quicker grabbing the pitcher. The Greatest Show in Space. Phooey!I've wet-nursed Shannon's Imperial Circus around the Triangle foreleven years, and I know. It's lousy, it's mangy, it's broken-down!Nothing works, from the ship to the roustabouts. In short, it stinks! I must have had the pitcher oftener than I thought. Nobody insultsBuckhalter Shannon's Imperial Circus to Buckhalter Shannon's faceunless he's tired and wants a long rest in a comfy fracture-frame. Shannon got up. He got up slowly. I had plenty of time to see hisgrey-green eyes get sleepy, and hear the quarter-Earth-blood Martiangirl wailing about love over by the battered piano, and watch theslanting cat-eyes of the little dark people at the tables swing roundtoward us, pleased and kind of hungry. I had plenty of time to think how I only weigh one-thirty-seven toShannon's one-seventy-five, and how I'm not as young as I used to be. I said, Bucky. Hold on, fella. I.... Somebody said, Excuse me, gentlemen. Is one of you Mister BuckhalterShannon? Shannon put his hands down on his belt. He closed his eyes and smiledpleasantly and said, very gently: Would you be collecting for the feed bill, or the fuel? I shot a glance at the newcomer. He'd saved me from a beating, even ifhe was a lousy bill-collecter; and I felt sorry for him. Bucky Shannonsettled his shoulders and hips like a dancer. The stranger was a little guy. He even made me look big. He was dressedin dark-green synthesilk, very conservative. There was a powdering ofgrey in his hair and his skin was pink, soft, and shaved painfullyclean. He had the kind of a face that nice maiden-ladies will trustwith their last dime. I looked for his strong-arm squad. There didn't seem to be any. The little guy looked at Shannon with paleblue eyes like a baby, and his voice was softer than Bucky's. He said, I don't think you understand. I felt cold, suddenly, between the shoulders. Somebody scraped a chairback. It sounded like he'd ripped the floor open, it was so quiet. Igot my brassies on, and my hands were sweating. Bucky Shannon sighed,and let his fist start traveling, a long, deceptive arc. Then I saw what the little guy was holding in his hand. I yelled and knocked the table over into Bucky. It made a lot of noise.It knocked him sideways and down, and the little dark men jumped up,quivering and showing their teeth. The Martian girl screamed. Bucky heaved the table off his lap and cursed me. What's eating you,Jig? I'm not going to hurt him. Shut up, I said. Look what he's got there. Money! The little guy looked at me. He hadn't turned a hair. Yes, he said.Money. Quite a lot of it. Would you gentlemen permit me to join you? Bucky Shannon got up. He grinned his pleasantest grin. Delighted. I'mShannon. This is Jig Bentley, my business manager. He looked down atthe table. I'm sorry about that. Mistaken identity. The little guy smiled. He did it with his lips. The rest of his facestayed placid and babyish, almost transparent. I realized with a startthat it wasn't transparent at all. It was the most complete dead-pan Iever met, and you couldn't see into those innocent blue eyes any morethan you could see through sheet metal. I didn't like him. I didn't like him at all. But he had money. I said,Howdy. Let's go find a booth. These Marshies make me nervous, lookinglike hungry cats at a mouse-hole. The little guy nodded. Excellent idea. My name is Beamish. SimonBeamish. I wish to—ah—charter your circus. <doc-sep>I looked at Bucky. He looked hungrier than the Marshies did. We didn'tsay anything until we got Beamish into a curtained booth with a freshpitcher of thil on the table. Then I cleared my throat. What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Beamish? Beamish sipped his drink, made a polite face, and put it down. I haveindependent means, gentlemen. It has always been my desire to lightenthe burden of life for those less fortunate.... Bucky got red around the ears. Just a minute, he murmured, andstarted to get up. I kicked him under the table. Shut up, you lug. Let Mister Beamish finish. He sat down, looking like a mean dog waiting for the postman. Beamishignored him. He went on, quietly, I have always held that entertainment, of the right sort, is the mostvaluable aid humanity can have in its search for the alleviation oftoil and boredom.... I said, Sure, sure. But what was your idea? There are many towns along the Venusian frontiers where noentertainment of the— proper sort has been available. I propose toremedy that. I propose to charter your circus, Mister Shannon, to makea tour of several settlements along the Tehara Belt. Bucky had relaxed. His grey-green eyes began to gleam. He started tospeak, and I kicked him again. That would be expensive, Mister Beamish, I said. We'd have to cancelseveral engagements.... He looked at me. I was lying, and he knew it. But he said, I quite understand that. I would be prepared.... The curtains were yanked back suddenly. Beamish shut up. Bucky and Iglared at the head and shoulders poking in between the drapes. It was Gow, our zoo-man—a big, ugly son-of-a-gun from a Terrancolony on Mercury. I was there once. Gow looks a lot like thescenery—scowling, unapproachable, and tough. His hands, holding thecurtains apart, had thick black hair on them and were not much largerthan the hams of a Venusian swamp-rhino. He said, Boss, Gertrude's actin' up again. Gertrude be blowed, growled Bucky. Can't you see I'm busy? Gow's black eyes were unpleasant. I'm tellin' you, Boss, Gertrudeain't happy. She ain't had the right food. If something.... I said, That'll all be taken care of, Gow. Run along now. He looked at me like he was thinking it wouldn't take much timber tofit me for a coffin. Okay! But Gertrude's unhappy. She's lonesome,see? And if she don't get happier pretty soon I ain't sure your tin-potship'll hold her. He pulled the curtains to and departed. Bucky Shannon groaned. Beamishcleared his throat and said, rather stiffly, Gertrude? Yeah. She's kind of temperamental. Bucky took a quick drink. Ifinished for him. She's the star attraction of our show, Mr. Beamish. A real blue-swampVenusian cansin . The only other one on the Triangle belongs to SavittBrothers, and she's much smaller than Gertrude. She was also much younger, but I didn't go into that. Gertrude may bea little creaky, but she's still pretty impressive. I only hoped shewouldn't die on us, because without her we'd have a sicker-lookingcircus than even I could stand. Beamish looked impressed. A cansin . Well, well! The mysterysurrounding the origin and species of the cansin is a fascinatingsubject. The extreme rarity of the animal.... We were getting off the subject. I said tactfully, We'd have to haveat least a hundred U.C.'s. It was twice what we had any right to ask. I was prepared to dicker.Beamish looked at me with that innocent dead pan. For a fraction of asecond I thought I saw something back of his round blue eyes, and mystomach jumped like it was shot. Beamish smiled sweetly. I'm not much of a bargainer. One hundred Universal Credits will beagreeable to me. He dragged out a roll as big as my two fists, peeledoff half a dozen credit slips, and laid them on the table. By way of a retainer, gentleman. My attorney and I will call on you inthe morning with a contract and itinerary. Good night. We said good night, trying not to drool. Beamish went away. Bucky madegrab for the money, but I beat him to it. Scram, I said. There are guys waiting for this. Big guys with clubs.Here. I gave him a small-denomination slip I'd been holding out. Wecan get lushed enough on this. Shannon has a good vocabulary. He used it. When he got his breath backhe said suddenly, Beamish is pulling some kind of a game. Yeah. It may be crooked. Sure. And he may be screwball and on the level. For Pete's sake! Iyelled. You want to sit here till we all dry up and blow away? Shannon looked at me, kind of funny. He looked at the bulge in my tunicwhere the roll was. He raked back his thick light hair. Yeah, he said. I hope there'll be enough left to bribe the jury. Hepoked his head outside. Hey, boy! More thildatum ! <doc-sep>It was pretty late when we got back to the broken-down spaceport whereShannon's Imperial Circus was crouching beneath its attachments. Lateas it was, they were waiting for us. About twenty of them, sittingaround and smoking and looking very ugly. It was awfully lonesome out there, with the desert cold and restlessunder the two moons. There's a smell to Mars, like something dead anddried long past decay, but still waiting. An unhappy smell. The blownred dust gritted in my teeth. Bucky Shannon walked out into the glare of the light at the entrance tothe roped-off space around the main lock. He was pretty steady on hisfeet. He waved and said, Hiya, boys. They got up off the steps, and the packing cases, and came toward us. Igrinned and got into my brassies. We felt we owed those boys a lot morethan money. It grates on a man's pride to have to sneak in and out ofhis own property through the sewage lock. This was the first time inweeks we'd come in at the front door. I waved the money in their faces. That stopped them. Very solemnly,Bucky and I checked the bills, paid them, and pocketed the receipts.Bucky yawned and stretched sleepily. Now? he said. Now, I said. We had a lot of fun. Some of the boys inside the ship came out to joinin. We raised a lot of dust and nobody got killed, quite. We all wenthome happy. They had their money, and we had their blood. The news was all over the ship before we got inside. The freaks and thegreen girl from Tethys who could roll herself like a hoop, and Zurt themuscle man from Jupiter, and all the other assorted geeks and kinkersand joeys that make up the usual corny carnie were doing nip-ups in thepassageways and drooling over the thought of steer and toppings. Bucky Shannon regarded them possessively, wiping blood from his nose.They're good guys, Jig. Swell people. They stuck by me, and I'verewarded them. I said, Sure, rather sourly. Bucky hiccoughed. Let's go see Gertrude. I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny goinginto the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a cityguy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. ButBucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged. Okay. But just for a minute. Then we go beddy-bye. You're a pal, Jif. Bes' li'l' guy inna worl'.... The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall downthe ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't....Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends? It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there wasa dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started downthe long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks andcompression units. Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn'tnear as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It'sthe smell, I think; rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them,breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walledaround them as strong as the cage bars. Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, andthen wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again.A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell,ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall. It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the sametime. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name Icould think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a greatmetallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gowhad them nicely conditioned to that gong. <doc-sep>But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feelthem inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared ofthem. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought—like I wantedto put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night,all of a sudden.... Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. She's gettin'worse, he said. She's lonesome. That's tough, said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like anowl's. He swayed slightly. That's sure tough. He sniffled. I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tankand even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking adeep breath. I don't know if you've ever seen a cansin . There's onlytwo of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say willmake much difference. They're what the brain gang calls an end of evolution. Seems oldDame Nature had an idea that didn't jell. The cansins were prettysuccessful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works andnow there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where eventhe Venusians hardly ever go. Living fossils. I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stucksome place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a littlebird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big. I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cagewith her hands—yeah, hands—hanging over her knees and her snaky headsunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything.Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire. The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made themane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyesclear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked likeold Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began. Gow said softly, She wants a mate. And somebody better get her one. Bucky Shannon sniffled again. I said irritably, Be reasonable, Gow!Nobody's ever seen a male cansin . There may not even be any. Gertrude screamed again. She didn't move, not even to raise her head.The sadness just built up inside her until it had to come out. Thatclose, the screech was deafening, and it turned me all limp and coldinside. The loneliness, the sheer stark, simple pain.... Bucky Shannon began to cry. I snarled, You'll have to snap her out ofthis, Gow. She's driving the rest of 'em nuts. He hammered on his gong, and things quieted down again. Gow stoodlooking out over the tank, sniffing a little, like a hound. Then heturned to Gertrude. I saved her life, he said. When we bought her out of Hanak's wreckand everybody thought she was too hurt to live, I saved her. I knowher. I can do things with her. But this time.... He shrugged. He was huge and tough and ugly, and his voice was like awoman's talking about a sick child. This time, he said, I ain't sure. Well for Pete's sake, do what you can. We got a charter, and we needher. I took Shannon's arm. Come to bed, Bucky darlin'. He draped himself over my shoulder and we went off. Gow didn't look atus. Bucky sobbed. You were right, Jig, he mumbled. Circus is no good. I know it. Butit's all I got. I love it, Jig. Unnerstan' me? Like Gow there withGertrude. She's ugly and no good, but he loves her. I love.... Sure, sure, I told him. Stop crying down my neck. We were a long way from the light, then. The cages and tanks loomedhigh and black over us. It was still. The secret, uneasy motion allaround us and the scruffing of our feet only made it stiller. Bucky was almost asleep on me. I started to slap him. And then the mistrose up out of the darkness in little lazy coils, sparkling faintlywith blue, cold fire. I yelled, Gow! Gow, the Vapor snakes! Gow—for God's sake! I started to run, back along the passageway. Bucky weighed on me, limpand heavy. The noise burst suddenly in a deafening hell of moans androars and shrieks, packed in tight by the metal walls, and above it allI could hear Gertrude's lonely, whistling scream. I thought, Somebody's down here. Somebody let 'em out. Somebody wantsto kill us! I tried to yell again. It strangled in my throat. Isobbed, and the sweat was thick and cold on me. One of Bucky's dragging, stumbling feet got between mine. We fell. Irolled on top of him, covering his face, and buried my own face in thehollow of his shoulder. The first snake touched me. It was like a live wire, sliding along theback of my neck. I screamed. It came down along my cheek, hunting mymouth. There were more of them, burning me through my clothes. Bucky moaned and kicked under me. I remember hanging on and thinking,This is it. This is it, and oh God, I'm scared! Then I went out. II Kanza the Martian croaker, was bending over me when I woke up. Hislittle brown face was crinkled with laughter. He'd lost most of histeeth, and he gummed thak -weed. It smelt. You pretty, Mis' Jig, he giggled. You funny like hell. He slapped some cold greasy stuff on my face. It hurt. I cursed him andsaid, Where's Shannon? How is he? Mis' Bucky okay. You save life. You big hero, Mis' Jig. Mis' Gow comenickuhtime get snakes. You hero. Haw! You funny like hell! I said, Yeah, and pushed him away and got up. I almost fell downa couple of times, but presently I made it to the mirror over thewashstand—I was in my own cell—and I saw what Kanza meant. The damnedsnakes had done a good job. I looked like I was upholstered in Scotchplaid. I felt sick. Bucky Shannon opened the door. He looked white and grim, and there wasa big burn across his neck. He said: Beamish is here with his lawyer. I picked up my shirt. Right with you. Kanza went out, still giggling. Bucky closed the door. Jig, he said, those vapor worms were all right when we went in.Somebody followed us down and let them out. On purpose. I hurt all over. I growled, With that brain, son, you should go far.Nobody saw anything, of course? Bucky shook his head. Question is, Jig, who wants to kill us, and why? Beamish. He realizes he's been gypped. One hundred U.C.'s, said Bucky softly, for a few lousy swampedgemining camps. It stinks, Jig. You think we should back out? I shrugged. You're the boss man. I'm only the guy that beats off thecreditors. Yeah, Bucky said reflectively. And I hear starvation isn't acomfortable death. Okay, Jig. Let's go sign. He put his hand on thelatch and looked at my feet. And—uh—Jig, I.... I said, Skip it. The next time, just don't trip me up, that's all! We had a nasty trip to Venus. Gertrude kept the brute tank on edge,and Gow, on the rare occasions he came up for air, went around lookinglike a disaster hoping to happen. To make it worse, Zurt the Jovianstrong-man got hurt during the take-off, and the Mercurian cave-cat hadkittens. Nobody would have minded that, only one of 'em had only four legs. Itlived just long enough to scare that bunch of superstitious dopes outof their pants. Circus people are funny that way. Shannon and I did a little quiet sleuthing, but it was a waste of time.Anybody in the gang might have let those electric worms out on us. Itdidn't help any to know that somebody, maybe the guy next to you atdinner, was busy thinking ways to kill you. By the time we hit Venus, Iwas ready to do a Brodie out the refuse chute. Shannon set the crate down on the edge of Nahru, the first stop on ouritinerary. I stood beside him, looking out the ports at the scenery. Itwas Venus, all right. Blue mud and thick green jungle and rain, and abunch of ratty-looking plastic shacks huddling together in the middleof it. Men in slickers were coming out for a look. I saw Beamish's sleek yacht parked on a cradle over to the left, andour router's runabout beside it. Bucky Shannon groaned. A blue one, Jig. A morgue if I ever saw one! I snarled, What do you want, with this lousy dog-and-pony show! andwent out. He followed. The gang was converging on the lock, but theyweren't happy. You get so you can feel those things. The steamy Venusheat was already sneaking into the ship. While we passed the hatchway to the brute tank, I could hear Gertrude,screaming. <doc-sep>The canvasmen were busy setting up the annex, slopping and cursing inthe mud. The paste brigade was heading for the shacks. Shannon and Istood with the hot rain running off our slickers, looking. I heard a noise behind me and looked around. Ahra the Nahali woman wasstanding in the mud with her arms up and her head thrown back, and hertriangular mouth open like a thirsty dog. She didn't have anything onbut her blue-green, hard scaled hide, and she was chuckling. It didn'tsound nice. You find a lot of Nahali people in side-shows, doing tricks withthe electric power they carry in their own bodies. They're Venusianmiddle-swampers, they're not human, and they never forget it. Ahra opened her slitted red eyes and looked at me and laughed withwhite reptilian teeth. Death, she whispered. Death and trouble. The jungle tells me. I cansmell it in the swamp wind. The hot rain sluiced over her. She shivered, and the pale skin underher jaw pulsed like a toad's, and her eyes were red. The deep swamps are angry, she whispered. Something has been taken.They are angry, and I smell death in the wind! She turned away, laughing, and I cursed her, and my stomach was tightand cold. Bucky said, Let's eat if they have a bar in this dump. We weren't half way across the mud puddle that passed as a landingfield when a man came out of a shack on the edge of the settlement. Wecould see him plainly, because he was off to one side of the crowd. He fell on his knees in the mud, making noises. It took him three orfour tries to get our names out clear enough to understand. Bucky said, Jig—it's Sam Kapper. We started to run. The crowd, mostly big unshaken miners, wheeledaround to see what was happening. People began to close in on the manwho crawled and whimpered in the mud. Sam Kapper was a hunter, supplying animals to zoos and circuses andcarnivals. He'd given us good deals a couple of times, when we weren'ttoo broke, and we were pretty friendly. I hadn't seen him for three seasons. I remembered him as a bronzed,hard-bitten guy, lean and tough as a twist of tung wire. I felt sick,looking down at him. Bucky started to help him up. Kapper was crying, and he jerked all overlike animals I've seen that were scared to death. Some guy leaned overand put a cigarette in his mouth and lighted it for him. I was thinking about Kapper, then, and I didn't pay much attention. Ionly caught a glimpse of the man's face as he straightened up. I didn'trealize until later that he looked familiar. We got Kapper inside the shack. It turned out to be a cheap bar, with acouple of curtained booths at the back. We got him into one and pulledthe curtain in a lot of curious faces. Kapper dragged hard on thecigarette. The man that gave it to him was gone. Bucky said gently, Okay, Sam. Relax. What's the trouble? <doc-sep>Kapper tried to straighten up. He hadn't shaved. The lean hard linesof his face had gone slack and his eyes were bloodshot. He was coveredwith mud, and his mouth twitched like a sick old man's. He said thickly, I found it. I said I'd do it, and I did. I found itand brought it out. The cigarette stub fell out of his mouth. He didn't notice it. Helpme, he said simply. I'm scared. His mouth drooled. I got it hidden. They want to find out, but I won't tell 'em. It'sgot to go back. Back where I found it. I tried to take it, but theywouldn't let me, and I was afraid they'd find it.... He reached suddenly and grabbed the edge of the table. I don't knowhow they found out about it, but they did. I've got to get it back.I've got to.... Bucky looked at me. Kapper was blue around the mouth. I was scared,suddenly. I said, Get what back where? Bucky got up. I'll get a doctor, he said. Stick with him. Kappergrabbed his wrist. Kapper's nails were blue and the cords in his handsstood out like guy wires. Don't leave me. Got to tell you—where it is. Got to take it back.Promise you'll take it back. He gasped and struggled over hisbreathing. Sure, said Bucky. Sure, well take it back. What is it? Kapper's face was horrible. I felt sick, listening to him fight forair. I wanted to go for a doctor anyway, but somehow I knew it was nouse. Kapper whispered, Cansin . Male. Only one. You don't know...! Take him back. Where is it, Sam? I reached across Bucky suddenly and jerked the curtain back. Beamishwas standing there. Beamish, bent over, with his ear cocked. Kappermade a harsh strangling noise and fell across the table. Beamish never changed expression. He didn't move while Bucky feltKapper's pulse. Bucky didn't need to say anything. We knew. Heart? said Beamish finally. Yeah, said Bucky. He looked as bad as I felt. Poor Sam. I looked at the cigarette stub smoldering on the table. I looked atBeamish with his round dead baby face. I climbed over Shannon andpushed Beamish suddenly down into his lap. Keep this guy here till I get back, I said. Shannon stared at me. Beamish started to get indignant. Shut up, Itold him. We got a contract. I yanked the curtains shut and walkedover to the bar. I began to notice something, then. There were quite a lot of men in theplace. At first glance they looked okay—a hard-faced, muscular bunchof miners in dirty shirts and high boots. Then I looked at their hands. They were dirty enough. But they neverdid any work in a mine, on Venus or anywhere else. The place was awfully quiet, for that kind of a place. The bartenderwas a big pot-bellied swamp-edger with pale eyes and thick white haircoiled up on top of his bullet head. He was not happy. I leaned on the bar. Lhak , I said. He poured it, sullenly, out of agreen bottle. I reached for it, casually. That guy we brought in, I said. He sure has a skinful. Passed outcold. What's he been spiking his drinks with? Selak , said a voice in my ear. As if you didn't know. I turned. The man who had given Kapper the cigarette was standingbehind me. And I remembered him, then. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the setting of the story

The story begins in the middle of some bar or club with a girl playing piano and drinks being served. When Beamish joined them, the three moved to a booth - a quieter place there. After the conversation, Jig and Bucky go to circus. At first, they meet the whole gang, coming through the main entrance. Then they move to the tank of a huge special creature, Gertrude, which is located a bit afar. On the way back home, outside the tank, the two were attacked by snakes. They woke up in different rooms, taken care of by Kanza the Martian croaker after being bitten by snakes and brought there by Gow, a member of the circus gang. Very soon they all together with the gang set off to Venus on a space ship to meet Beamish. On Venus the gang walked towards a local bar and the story ends there.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> SPACEMAN ON A SPREE BY MACK REYNOLDS Illustrated by Nodel [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What's more important—Man's conquest of space, or one spaceman's life? I They gave him a gold watch. It was meant to be symbolical, of course.In the old tradition. It was in the way of an antique, being one of thetimepieces made generations past in the Alpine area of Eur-Asia. Itsquaintness lay in the fact that it was wound, not electronically bypower-radio, but by the actual physical movements of the bearer, a freeswinging rotor keeping the mainspring at a constant tension. They also had a banquet for him, complete with speeches by suchbigwigs of the Department of Space Exploration as Academician LoftingGubelin and Doctor Hans Girard-Perregaux. There was also somebodyfrom the government who spoke, but he was one of those who werepseudo-elected and didn't know much about the field of space travelnor the significance of Seymour Pond's retirement. Si didn't bother toremember his name. He only wondered vaguely why the cloddy had turnedup at all. In common with recipients of gold watches of a score of generationsbefore him, Si Pond would have preferred something a bit more tangiblein the way of reward, such as a few shares of Variable Basic to add tohis portfolio. But that, he supposed, was asking too much. The fact of the matter was, Si knew that his retiring had set themback. They hadn't figured he had enough shares of Basic to see himthrough decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards.But Space Pilot Seymour Pond didn't have their standards. He'd hadplenty of time to think it over. It was better to retire on a limitedcrediting, on a confoundedly limited crediting, than to take the two orthree more trips in hopes of attaining a higher standard. He'd had plenty of time to figure it out, there alone in space on theMoon run, there on the Venus or Mars runs. There on the long, longhaul to the Jupiter satellites, fearfully checking the symptoms ofspace cafard, the madness compounded of claustrophobia, monotony,boredom and free fall. Plenty of time. Time to decide that a oneroom mini-auto-apartment, complete with an autochair and built-inautobar, and with one wall a teevee screen, was all he needed tofind contentment for a mighty long time. Possibly somebody likeDoc Girard-Perregaux might be horrified at the idea of living in amini-auto-apartment ... not realizing that to a pilot it was roomybeyond belief compared to the conning tower of a space craft. No. Even as Si listened to their speeches, accepted the watch andmade a halting little talk of his own, he was grinning inwardly. Therewasn't anything they could do. He had them now. He had enough Basic tokeep him comfortably, by his standards, for the rest of his life. Hewas never going to subject himself to space cafard again. Just thinkingabout it, now, set the tic to going at the side of his mouth. They could count down and blast off, for all he gave a damn. <doc-sep>The gold watch idea had been that of Lofting Gubelin, which wastypical, he being in the way of a living anachronism himself. In fact,Academician Gubelin was possibly the only living man on North Americawho still wore spectacles. His explanation was that a phobia againsthaving his eyes touched prohibited either surgery to remould hiseyeballs and cure his myopia, or contact lenses. That was only an alibi so far as his closest associate, HansGirard-Perregaux, was concerned. Doctor Girard-Perregaux was convincedGubelin would have even worn facial hair, had he but a touch morecourage. Gubelin longed for yesteryear, a seldom found phenomenon underthe Ultrawelfare State. Slumped in an autochair in the escape room of his Floridian home,Lofting Gubelin scowled at his friend. He said, acidly, Any morebright schemes, Hans? I presume you now acknowledge that appealing tothe cloddy's patriotism, sentiment and desire for public acclaim havemiserably failed. Girard-Perregaux said easily, I wouldn't call Seymour Pond a cloddy.In his position, I am afraid I would do the same thing he has. That's nonsense, Hans. Zoroaster! Either you or I would gladly takePond's place were we capable of performing the duties for which he hasbeen trained. There aren't two men on North America—there aren't twomen in the world!—who better realize the urgency of continuing ourdelving into space. Gubelin snapped his fingers. Like that, either ofus would give our lives to prevent man from completely abandoning theroad to his destiny. His friend said drily, Either of us could have volunteered for pilottraining forty years ago, Lofting. We didn't. At that time there wasn't such a blistering percentage of funkersthroughout this whole blistering Ultrawelfare State! Who couldforesee that eventually our whole program would face ending due tolack of courageous young men willing to take chances, willing to faceadventure, willing to react to the stimulus of danger in the manner ourancestors did? Girard-Perregaux grunted his sarcasm and dialed a glass of iced teaand tequila. He said, Nevertheless, both you and I conform with thepresent generation in finding it far more pleasant to follow one'sway of life in the comfort of one's home than to be confronted withthe unpleasantness of facing nature's dangers in more adventurouspastimes. Gubelin, half angry at his friend's argument, leaned forward to snaprebuttal, but the other was wagging a finger at him negatively. Facereality, Lofting. Don't require or expect from Seymour Pond morethan is to be found there. He is an average young man. Born in ourUltrawelfare State, he was guaranteed his fundamental womb-to-tombsecurity by being issued that minimum number of Basic shares in oursociety that allows him an income sufficient to secure the food,clothing, shelter, medical care and education to sustain a low levelof subsistence. Percentages were against his ever being draftedinto industry. Automation being what it is, only a fraction of thepopulation is ever called up. But Pond was. His industrial aptitudedossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it wasyou yourself who talked him into taking the training ... pointing outthe more pragmatic advantages such as complete retirement after but sixtrips, added shares of Basic so that he could enjoy a more comfortablelife than most and the fame that would accrue to him as one of thevery few who still participate in travel to the planets. Very well.He was sold. Took his training, which, of course, required long yearsof drudgery to him. Then, performing his duties quite competently, hemade his six trips. He is now legally eligible for retirement. He wasdrafted into the working force reserves, served his time, and is nowfree from toil for the balance of his life. Why should he listen toour pleas for a few more trips? But has he no spirit of adventure? Has he no feeling for.... <doc-sep>Girard-Perregaux was wagging his finger again, a gesture that,seemingly mild though it was, had an astonishing ability to break offthe conversation of one who debated with the easy-seeming, quiet spokenman. He said, No, he hasn't. Few there are who have, nowadays. Man hasalways paid lip service to adventure, hardships and excitement, but inactuality his instincts, like those of any other animal, lead him tothe least dangerous path. Today we've reached the point where no oneneed face danger—ever. There are few who don't take advantage of thefact. Including you and me, Lofting, and including Seymour Pond. His friend and colleague changed subjects abruptly, impatiently. Let'sleave this blistering jabber about Pond's motivation and get to thepoint. The man is the only trained space pilot in the world. It willtake months, possibly more than a year, to bring another novitiatepilot to the point where he can safely be trusted to take our nextexplorer craft out. Appropriations for our expeditions have beenincreasingly hard to come by—even though in our minds, Hans, we arenear important breakthroughs, breakthroughs which might possibly sospark the race that a new dream to push man out to the stars will takehold of us. If it is admitted that our organization has degeneratedto the point that we haven't a single pilot, then it might well bethat the Economic Planning Board, and especially those cloddieson Appropriations, will terminate the whole Department of SpaceExploration. So.... Girard-Perregaux said gently. So some way we've got to bring Seymour Pond out of his retirement! Now we are getting to matters. Girard-Perregaux nodded his agreement.Looking over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowed in thought as hisface took on an expression of Machiavellianism. And do not the endsjustify the means? Gubelin blinked at him. The other chuckled. The trouble with you, Lofting, is that you havefailed to bring history to bear on our problem. Haven't you ever readof the sailor and his way of life? Sailor? What in the name of the living Zoroaster has the sailor got todo with it? You must realize, my dear Lofting, that our Si Pond is nothing morethan a latter-day sailor, with many of the problems and view-points,tendencies and weaknesses of the voyager of the past. Have you neverheard of the seaman who dreamed of returning to the village of hisbirth and buying a chicken farm or some such? All the long months atsea—and sometimes the tramp freighters or whaling craft would be outfor years at a stretch before returning to home port—he would talkof his retirement and his dream. And then? Then in port, it would beone short drink with the boys, before taking his accumulated pay andheading home. The one short drink would lead to another. And morningwould find him, drunk, rolled, tattooed and possibly sleeping it off injail. So back to sea he'd have to go. Gubelin grunted bitterly. Unfortunately, our present-day sailorcan't be separated from his money quite so easily. If he could, I'dpersonally be willing to lure him down some dark alley, knock him overthe head and roll him myself. Just to bring him back to his job again. He brought his wallet from his pocket, and flicked it open to hisuniversal credit card. The ultimate means of exchange, he grunted.Nobody can spend your money, but you, yourself. Nobody can steal it,nobody can, ah, con you out of it. Just how do you expect to severour present-day sailor and his accumulated nest egg? The other chuckled again. It is simply a matter of finding more modernmethods, my dear chap. <doc-sep>II Si Pond was a great believer in the institution of the spree. Anyexcuse would do. Back when he had finished basic education at the ageof twenty-five and was registered for the labor draft, there hadn'tbeen a chance in a hundred that he'd have the bad luck to have hisname pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated. When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualificationswere such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation inthe Ultrawelfare State and had been pressured into taking trainingfor space pilot, he had celebrated once again. Twenty-two others hadtaken the training with him, and only he and Rod Cameroon had passedthe finals. On this occasion, he and Rod had celebrated together. Ithad been quite a party. Two weeks later, Rod had burned on a faultytake-off on what should have been a routine Moon run. Each time Si returned from one of his own runs, he celebrated. A spree,a bust, a bat, a wing-ding, a night on the town. A commemoration ofdangers met and passed. Now it was all over. At the age of thirty he was retired. Law preventedhim from ever being called up for contributing to the country's laborneeds again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer. He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn'tany particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get thereputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of thefellas. You could do the same in life whether you really studied ornot. You had your Inalienable Basic stock, didn't you? What else didyou need? It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force. In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistakein adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution.They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number ofworking hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week.It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were workingbut two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. Itbecame obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting inthirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it wasto have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and noneof them ever really becoming efficient. The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remainunemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent ofunemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in areasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a yearand a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employeeswere needed, a draft lottery was held. All persons registered in the labor force participated. If youwere drawn, you must need serve. The dissatisfaction those chosenmight feel at their poor luck was offset by the fact that they weregranted additional Variable Basic shares, according to the tasksthey fulfilled. Such shares could be added to their portfolios, thedividends becoming part of their current credit balance, or could besold for a lump sum on the market. Yes, but now it was all over. He had his own little place, his ownvacuum-tube vehicle and twice the amount of shares of Basic that mostof his fellow citizens could boast. Si Pond had it made. A spree wasobviously called for. He was going to do this one right. This was the big one. He'daccumulated a lot of dollars these past few months and he intendedto blow them, or at least a sizeable number of them. His credit cardwas burning a hole in his pocket, as the expression went. However, hewasn't going to rush into things. This had to be done correctly. Too many a spree was played by ear. You started off with a few drinks,fell in with some second rate mopsy and usually wound up in a thirdrate groggery where you spent just as much as though you'd been in theclassiest joint in town. Came morning and you had nothing to show forall the dollars that had been spent but a rum-head. Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through thecenturies since the Phoenecian sailor, back from his year-long trip tothe tin mines of Cornwall, blew his hard earned share of the voyage'sprofits in a matter of days in the wine shops of Tyre. Nobody getsquite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he whomust leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically andusually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spenthurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so longdenied him. Si was going to do it differently this time. Nothing but the best. Wine, women, song, food, entertainment. Theworks. But nothing but the best. <doc-sep>To start off, he dressed with great care in the honorableretirement-rank suit he had so recently purchased. His space pin heattached carefully to the lapel. That was a good beginning, he decided.A bit of prestige didn't hurt you when you went out on the town. Inthe Ultrawelfare State hardly one person in a hundred actually everperformed anything of value to society. The efforts of most weren'tneeded. Those few who did contribute were awarded honors, decorations,titles. Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his creditcard was in his pocket. As an after-thought, he went over to theauto-apartment's teevee-phone, flicked it on, held the card to thescreen and said, Balance check, please. In a moment, the teevee-phone's robot voice reported, Ten shares ofInalienable Basic. Twelve shares of Variable Basic, current value, fourthousand, two hundred and thirty-three dollars and sixty-two centsapiece. Current cash credit, one thousand and eighty-four dollars. Thescreen went dead. One thousand and eighty-four dollars. That was plenty. He could safelyspend as much as half of it, if the spree got as lively as he hoped itwould. His monthly dividends were due in another week or so, and hewouldn't have to worry about current expenses. Yes, indeedy, Si Pondwas as solvent as he had ever been in his thirty years. He opened the small, closet-like door which housed his vacuum-tubetwo-seater, and wedged himself into the small vehicle. He brought downthe canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only oneplace really made sense. The big city. He considered for a moment, decided against the boroughs of Baltimoreand Boston, and selected Manhattan instead. He had the resources. Hemight as well do it up brown. He dialed Manhattan and felt the sinking sensation that presaged hiscar's dropping to tube level. While it was being taken up by the robotcontrols, being shuttled here and there preparatory to the shot to hisdestination, he dialed the vehicle's teevee-phone for information onthe hotels of the island of the Hudson. He selected a swank hostelryhe'd read about and seen on the teevee casts of society and celebritygossip reporters, and dialed it on the car's destination dial. Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond, he said aloud. The car hesitated for a moment, that brief hesitation before theshot, and Si took the involuntary breath from which only heroes couldrefrain. He sank back slowly into the seat. Moments passed, and thedirection of the pressure was reversed. Manhattan. The shuttling began again, and one or two more traversingsub-shots. Finally, the dash threw a green light and Si opened thecanopy and stepped into his hotel room. A voice said gently, If the quarters are satisfactory, please presentyour credit card within ten minutes. Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the mostswank suite he had ever seen. One wall was a window of whatever sizethe guest might desire and Si touched the control that dilated it tothe full. His view opened in such wise that he could see both theEmpire State Building Museum and the Hudson. Beyond the river stretchedthe all but endless city which was Greater Metropolis. He didn't take the time to flick on the menu, next to the auto-diningtable, nor to check the endless potables on the autobar list. All that,he well knew, would be superlative. Besides, he didn't plan to dineor do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless hemanaged to acquire some feminine companionship, that was. He looked briefly into the swimming pool and bath, then floppedhimself happily onto the bed. It wasn't up to the degree of softnesshe presently desired, and he dialed the thing to the ultimate in thatdirection so that with a laugh he sank almost out of sight into themattress. He came back to his feet, gave his suit a quick patting so that itfell into press and, taking his credit card from his pocket, put itagainst the teevee-phone screen and pressed the hotel button so thatregistration could be completed. For a moment he stood in the center of the floor, in thought. Take iteasy, Si Pond, take it all easy, this time. No throwing his dollarsaround in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias.This time, be it the only time in his life, he was going to frolic inthe grand manner. No cloddy was Si Pond. He decided a drink was in order to help him plan his strategy. A drinkat the hotel's famous Kudos Room where celebrities were reputed to be adime a dozen. He left the suite and stepped into one of the elevators. He said,Kudos Room. The auto-elevator murmured politely, Yes, sir, the Kudos Room. <doc-sep>At the door to the famous rendezvous of the swankiest set, Si paused amoment and looked about. He'd never been in a place like this, either.However, he stifled his first instinct to wonder about what this wasgoing to do to his current credit balance with an inner grin and madehis way to the bar. There was actually a bartender. Si Pond suppressed his astonishment and said, offhand, attempting anair of easy sophistication, Slivovitz Sour. Yes, sir. The drinks in the Kudos Room might be concocted by hand, but Si noticedthey had the routine teevee screens built into the bar for payment.He put his credit card on the screen immediately before him when thedrink came, and had to quell his desire to dial for a balance check, soas to be able to figure out what the Sour had cost him. Well, this was something like it. This was the sort of thing he'ddreamed about, out there in the great alone, seated in the confiningconning tower of his space craft. He sipped at the drink, finding it upto his highest expectations, and then swiveled slightly on his stool totake a look at the others present. To his disappointment, there were no recognizable celebrities. Nonethat he placed, at least—top teevee stars, top politicians of theUltrawelfare State or Sports personalities. He turned back to his drink and noticed, for the first time, the girlwho occupied the stool two down from him. Si Pond blinked. He blinkedand then swallowed. Zo-ro-as-ter , he breathed. She was done in the latest style from Shanghai, even to the point ofhaving cosmetically duplicated the Mongolian fold at the corners of hereyes. Every pore, but every pore, was in place. She sat with the easygrace of the Orient, so seldom found in the West. His stare couldn't be ignored. She looked at him coldly, turned to the bartender and murmured, A FarOut Cooler, please, Fredric. Then deliberately added, I thought theKudos Room was supposed to be exclusive. There was nothing the bartender could say to that, and he went aboutbuilding the drink. Si cleared his throat. Hey, he said, how about letting this one beon me? Her eyebrows, which had been plucked and penciled to carry out herOriental motif, rose. Really! she said, drawing it out. The bartender said hurriedly, I beg your pardon, sir.... The girl, her voice suddenly subtly changed, said, Why, isn't that aspace pin? Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, Yeah ... sure. Good Heavens, you're a spaceman? Sure. He pointed at the lapel pin. You can't wear one unless youbeen on at least a Moon run. She was obviously both taken back and impressed. Why, she said,you're Seymour Pond, the pilot. I tuned in on the banquet they gaveyou. Si, carrying his glass, moved over to the stool next to her. Call meSi, he said. Everybody calls me Si. She said, I'm Natalie. Natalie Paskov. Just Natalie. Imagine meetingSeymour Pond. Just sitting down next to him at a bar. Just like that. Si, Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anythinglike this rarified pulchritude. Maybe on teevee, of course, one of thecurrent sex symbols, but never in person. Call me Si, he said again.I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking toif they say Seymour. I cried when they gave you that antique watch, she said, her tonesuch that it was obvious she hadn't quite adjusted as yet to havingmet him. Si Pond was surprised. Cried? he said. Well, why? I was kind ofbored with the whole thing. But old Doc Gubelin, I used to work underhim in the Space Exploration department, he was hot for it. Academician Gubelin? she said. You just call him Doc ? Si was expansive. Why, sure. In the Space Department we don't havemuch time for formality. Everybody's just Si, and Doc, and Jim. Likethat. But how come you cried? <doc-sep>She looked down into the drink the bartender had placed before her,as though avoiding his face. I ... I suppose it was that speechDoctor Girard-Perregaux made. There you stood, so fine and straight inyour space-pilot uniform, the veteran of six exploration runs to theplanets.... Well, Si said modestly, two of my runs were only to the Moon. ... and he said all those things about man's conquest of space. Andthe dream of the stars which man has held so long. And then the factthat you were the last of the space pilots. The last man in the wholeworld trained to pilot a space craft. And here you were, retiring. Si grunted. Yeah. That's all part of the Doc's scheme to get me totake on another three runs. They're afraid the whole department'll bedropped by the Appropriations Committee on this here Economic PlanningBoard. Even if they can find some other patsy to train for the job,it'd take maybe a year before you could even send him on a Moon hop.So old man Gubelin, and Girard-Perregaux too, they're both trying topressure me into more trips. Otherwise they got a Space ExplorationDepartment, with all the expense and all, but nobody to pilot theirships. It's kind of funny, in a way. You know what one of thosespaceships costs? Funny? she said. Why, I don't think it's funny at all. Si said, Look, how about another drink? Natalie Paskov said, Oh, I'd love to have a drink with you, Mr.... Si, Si said. He motioned to the bartender with a circular twist ofthe hand indicating their need for two more of the same. How come youknow so much about it? You don't meet many people who are interestedin space any more. In fact, most people are almost contemptuous, like.Think it's kind of a big boondoggle deal to help use up a lot ofmaterials and all and keep the economy going. Natalie said earnestly, Why, I've been a space fan all my life. I'veread all about it. Have always known the names of all the space pilotsand everything about them, ever since I was a child. I suppose you'dsay I have the dream that Doctor Girard-Perregaux spoke about. Si chuckled. A real buff, eh? You know, it's kind of funny. I wasnever much interested in it. And I got a darn sight less interestedafter my first run and I found out what space cafard was. She frowned. I don't believe I know much about that. Sitting in the Kudos Room with the most beautiful girl to whom he hadever talked, Si could be nonchalant about the subject. Old Gubelinkeeps that angle mostly hushed up and out of the magazine and newspaperarticles. Says there's enough adverse publicity about space explorationalready. But at this stage of the game when the whole ship's crammedtight with this automatic scientific apparatus and all, there'sprecious little room in the conning tower and you're the only manaboard. The Doc says later on when ships are bigger and there's a wholeflock of people aboard, there won't be any such thing as space cafard,but.... Of a sudden the right side of Si Pond's mouth began to ticand he hurriedly took up his drink and knocked it back. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Seymour Pond has just retired from his career as the last astronaut from the Ultrawelfare State at the age of thirty. At his going away party he is given a watch, and academics like Lifting Gubelin and Dr Hans Girarad-Perregaux speak on his behalf. Si has decided to take the money he has saved up from his time working, which most people in the Ultrawelfare state don't, and live a simple comfortable life. He intends to never work again, after his six space flights. The currency used in the state was universal, controlled by a personal credit card. Because most jobs were automated, few people had to work, so most people lived off of a set welfare, and those selected to work were given a little extra compensation. Si was one of these people. Gubelin and Perregaux are both horrified by the fact that Pond has decided to take an early retirement. He was their only pilot for their space program, and if they were to get another, it would take at least a year of training. Without a pilot, they are worried that their funding will be cut, and the space program will be shut down. They scheme together as to how to get Pond back in the space program. They think that the only way to get him back would be to make sure he was left without any money, and therefore would have no choice but to return to his former position. Si is planning a big night out. He has always gone and celebrated when there was a cause, and tonight, he was planning to spend at least half of all the money in his account. He gets dressed in his retirement rank suit to go out, checks his balance, and then takes his vacuum tube to New york city. Before he leaves, he books a room at a swanky hotel for the rich and famous, and after a few moments, his car transports him to his room. There is an amazing view of the city, and from his room, gets ready to go to the bar. At the bar he orders a drink, before noticing a beautiful woman beside him. They get to talking and before long, she tells him she recognises him, telling him about how moved she found his whole retirement ceremony. Making it very clear she wasn't happy he was retiring. He asks why she has an interest in space, to which she replies that she always has. He begins to explain the aspects of space flight, when the right side of his mouth begins to tick, and he knocks his drink back.

Please describe the Ultrawelfare State. [SEP] <s> SPACEMAN ON A SPREE BY MACK REYNOLDS Illustrated by Nodel [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What's more important—Man's conquest of space, or one spaceman's life? I They gave him a gold watch. It was meant to be symbolical, of course.In the old tradition. It was in the way of an antique, being one of thetimepieces made generations past in the Alpine area of Eur-Asia. Itsquaintness lay in the fact that it was wound, not electronically bypower-radio, but by the actual physical movements of the bearer, a freeswinging rotor keeping the mainspring at a constant tension. They also had a banquet for him, complete with speeches by suchbigwigs of the Department of Space Exploration as Academician LoftingGubelin and Doctor Hans Girard-Perregaux. There was also somebodyfrom the government who spoke, but he was one of those who werepseudo-elected and didn't know much about the field of space travelnor the significance of Seymour Pond's retirement. Si didn't bother toremember his name. He only wondered vaguely why the cloddy had turnedup at all. In common with recipients of gold watches of a score of generationsbefore him, Si Pond would have preferred something a bit more tangiblein the way of reward, such as a few shares of Variable Basic to add tohis portfolio. But that, he supposed, was asking too much. The fact of the matter was, Si knew that his retiring had set themback. They hadn't figured he had enough shares of Basic to see himthrough decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards.But Space Pilot Seymour Pond didn't have their standards. He'd hadplenty of time to think it over. It was better to retire on a limitedcrediting, on a confoundedly limited crediting, than to take the two orthree more trips in hopes of attaining a higher standard. He'd had plenty of time to figure it out, there alone in space on theMoon run, there on the Venus or Mars runs. There on the long, longhaul to the Jupiter satellites, fearfully checking the symptoms ofspace cafard, the madness compounded of claustrophobia, monotony,boredom and free fall. Plenty of time. Time to decide that a oneroom mini-auto-apartment, complete with an autochair and built-inautobar, and with one wall a teevee screen, was all he needed tofind contentment for a mighty long time. Possibly somebody likeDoc Girard-Perregaux might be horrified at the idea of living in amini-auto-apartment ... not realizing that to a pilot it was roomybeyond belief compared to the conning tower of a space craft. No. Even as Si listened to their speeches, accepted the watch andmade a halting little talk of his own, he was grinning inwardly. Therewasn't anything they could do. He had them now. He had enough Basic tokeep him comfortably, by his standards, for the rest of his life. Hewas never going to subject himself to space cafard again. Just thinkingabout it, now, set the tic to going at the side of his mouth. They could count down and blast off, for all he gave a damn. <doc-sep>The gold watch idea had been that of Lofting Gubelin, which wastypical, he being in the way of a living anachronism himself. In fact,Academician Gubelin was possibly the only living man on North Americawho still wore spectacles. His explanation was that a phobia againsthaving his eyes touched prohibited either surgery to remould hiseyeballs and cure his myopia, or contact lenses. That was only an alibi so far as his closest associate, HansGirard-Perregaux, was concerned. Doctor Girard-Perregaux was convincedGubelin would have even worn facial hair, had he but a touch morecourage. Gubelin longed for yesteryear, a seldom found phenomenon underthe Ultrawelfare State. Slumped in an autochair in the escape room of his Floridian home,Lofting Gubelin scowled at his friend. He said, acidly, Any morebright schemes, Hans? I presume you now acknowledge that appealing tothe cloddy's patriotism, sentiment and desire for public acclaim havemiserably failed. Girard-Perregaux said easily, I wouldn't call Seymour Pond a cloddy.In his position, I am afraid I would do the same thing he has. That's nonsense, Hans. Zoroaster! Either you or I would gladly takePond's place were we capable of performing the duties for which he hasbeen trained. There aren't two men on North America—there aren't twomen in the world!—who better realize the urgency of continuing ourdelving into space. Gubelin snapped his fingers. Like that, either ofus would give our lives to prevent man from completely abandoning theroad to his destiny. His friend said drily, Either of us could have volunteered for pilottraining forty years ago, Lofting. We didn't. At that time there wasn't such a blistering percentage of funkersthroughout this whole blistering Ultrawelfare State! Who couldforesee that eventually our whole program would face ending due tolack of courageous young men willing to take chances, willing to faceadventure, willing to react to the stimulus of danger in the manner ourancestors did? Girard-Perregaux grunted his sarcasm and dialed a glass of iced teaand tequila. He said, Nevertheless, both you and I conform with thepresent generation in finding it far more pleasant to follow one'sway of life in the comfort of one's home than to be confronted withthe unpleasantness of facing nature's dangers in more adventurouspastimes. Gubelin, half angry at his friend's argument, leaned forward to snaprebuttal, but the other was wagging a finger at him negatively. Facereality, Lofting. Don't require or expect from Seymour Pond morethan is to be found there. He is an average young man. Born in ourUltrawelfare State, he was guaranteed his fundamental womb-to-tombsecurity by being issued that minimum number of Basic shares in oursociety that allows him an income sufficient to secure the food,clothing, shelter, medical care and education to sustain a low levelof subsistence. Percentages were against his ever being draftedinto industry. Automation being what it is, only a fraction of thepopulation is ever called up. But Pond was. His industrial aptitudedossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it wasyou yourself who talked him into taking the training ... pointing outthe more pragmatic advantages such as complete retirement after but sixtrips, added shares of Basic so that he could enjoy a more comfortablelife than most and the fame that would accrue to him as one of thevery few who still participate in travel to the planets. Very well.He was sold. Took his training, which, of course, required long yearsof drudgery to him. Then, performing his duties quite competently, hemade his six trips. He is now legally eligible for retirement. He wasdrafted into the working force reserves, served his time, and is nowfree from toil for the balance of his life. Why should he listen toour pleas for a few more trips? But has he no spirit of adventure? Has he no feeling for.... <doc-sep>Girard-Perregaux was wagging his finger again, a gesture that,seemingly mild though it was, had an astonishing ability to break offthe conversation of one who debated with the easy-seeming, quiet spokenman. He said, No, he hasn't. Few there are who have, nowadays. Man hasalways paid lip service to adventure, hardships and excitement, but inactuality his instincts, like those of any other animal, lead him tothe least dangerous path. Today we've reached the point where no oneneed face danger—ever. There are few who don't take advantage of thefact. Including you and me, Lofting, and including Seymour Pond. His friend and colleague changed subjects abruptly, impatiently. Let'sleave this blistering jabber about Pond's motivation and get to thepoint. The man is the only trained space pilot in the world. It willtake months, possibly more than a year, to bring another novitiatepilot to the point where he can safely be trusted to take our nextexplorer craft out. Appropriations for our expeditions have beenincreasingly hard to come by—even though in our minds, Hans, we arenear important breakthroughs, breakthroughs which might possibly sospark the race that a new dream to push man out to the stars will takehold of us. If it is admitted that our organization has degeneratedto the point that we haven't a single pilot, then it might well bethat the Economic Planning Board, and especially those cloddieson Appropriations, will terminate the whole Department of SpaceExploration. So.... Girard-Perregaux said gently. So some way we've got to bring Seymour Pond out of his retirement! Now we are getting to matters. Girard-Perregaux nodded his agreement.Looking over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowed in thought as hisface took on an expression of Machiavellianism. And do not the endsjustify the means? Gubelin blinked at him. The other chuckled. The trouble with you, Lofting, is that you havefailed to bring history to bear on our problem. Haven't you ever readof the sailor and his way of life? Sailor? What in the name of the living Zoroaster has the sailor got todo with it? You must realize, my dear Lofting, that our Si Pond is nothing morethan a latter-day sailor, with many of the problems and view-points,tendencies and weaknesses of the voyager of the past. Have you neverheard of the seaman who dreamed of returning to the village of hisbirth and buying a chicken farm or some such? All the long months atsea—and sometimes the tramp freighters or whaling craft would be outfor years at a stretch before returning to home port—he would talkof his retirement and his dream. And then? Then in port, it would beone short drink with the boys, before taking his accumulated pay andheading home. The one short drink would lead to another. And morningwould find him, drunk, rolled, tattooed and possibly sleeping it off injail. So back to sea he'd have to go. Gubelin grunted bitterly. Unfortunately, our present-day sailorcan't be separated from his money quite so easily. If he could, I'dpersonally be willing to lure him down some dark alley, knock him overthe head and roll him myself. Just to bring him back to his job again. He brought his wallet from his pocket, and flicked it open to hisuniversal credit card. The ultimate means of exchange, he grunted.Nobody can spend your money, but you, yourself. Nobody can steal it,nobody can, ah, con you out of it. Just how do you expect to severour present-day sailor and his accumulated nest egg? The other chuckled again. It is simply a matter of finding more modernmethods, my dear chap. <doc-sep>II Si Pond was a great believer in the institution of the spree. Anyexcuse would do. Back when he had finished basic education at the ageof twenty-five and was registered for the labor draft, there hadn'tbeen a chance in a hundred that he'd have the bad luck to have hisname pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated. When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualificationswere such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation inthe Ultrawelfare State and had been pressured into taking trainingfor space pilot, he had celebrated once again. Twenty-two others hadtaken the training with him, and only he and Rod Cameroon had passedthe finals. On this occasion, he and Rod had celebrated together. Ithad been quite a party. Two weeks later, Rod had burned on a faultytake-off on what should have been a routine Moon run. Each time Si returned from one of his own runs, he celebrated. A spree,a bust, a bat, a wing-ding, a night on the town. A commemoration ofdangers met and passed. Now it was all over. At the age of thirty he was retired. Law preventedhim from ever being called up for contributing to the country's laborneeds again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer. He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn'tany particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get thereputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of thefellas. You could do the same in life whether you really studied ornot. You had your Inalienable Basic stock, didn't you? What else didyou need? It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force. In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistakein adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution.They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number ofworking hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week.It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were workingbut two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. Itbecame obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting inthirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it wasto have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and noneof them ever really becoming efficient. The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remainunemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent ofunemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in areasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a yearand a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employeeswere needed, a draft lottery was held. All persons registered in the labor force participated. If youwere drawn, you must need serve. The dissatisfaction those chosenmight feel at their poor luck was offset by the fact that they weregranted additional Variable Basic shares, according to the tasksthey fulfilled. Such shares could be added to their portfolios, thedividends becoming part of their current credit balance, or could besold for a lump sum on the market. Yes, but now it was all over. He had his own little place, his ownvacuum-tube vehicle and twice the amount of shares of Basic that mostof his fellow citizens could boast. Si Pond had it made. A spree wasobviously called for. He was going to do this one right. This was the big one. He'daccumulated a lot of dollars these past few months and he intendedto blow them, or at least a sizeable number of them. His credit cardwas burning a hole in his pocket, as the expression went. However, hewasn't going to rush into things. This had to be done correctly. Too many a spree was played by ear. You started off with a few drinks,fell in with some second rate mopsy and usually wound up in a thirdrate groggery where you spent just as much as though you'd been in theclassiest joint in town. Came morning and you had nothing to show forall the dollars that had been spent but a rum-head. Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through thecenturies since the Phoenecian sailor, back from his year-long trip tothe tin mines of Cornwall, blew his hard earned share of the voyage'sprofits in a matter of days in the wine shops of Tyre. Nobody getsquite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he whomust leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically andusually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spenthurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so longdenied him. Si was going to do it differently this time. Nothing but the best. Wine, women, song, food, entertainment. Theworks. But nothing but the best. <doc-sep>To start off, he dressed with great care in the honorableretirement-rank suit he had so recently purchased. His space pin heattached carefully to the lapel. That was a good beginning, he decided.A bit of prestige didn't hurt you when you went out on the town. Inthe Ultrawelfare State hardly one person in a hundred actually everperformed anything of value to society. The efforts of most weren'tneeded. Those few who did contribute were awarded honors, decorations,titles. Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his creditcard was in his pocket. As an after-thought, he went over to theauto-apartment's teevee-phone, flicked it on, held the card to thescreen and said, Balance check, please. In a moment, the teevee-phone's robot voice reported, Ten shares ofInalienable Basic. Twelve shares of Variable Basic, current value, fourthousand, two hundred and thirty-three dollars and sixty-two centsapiece. Current cash credit, one thousand and eighty-four dollars. Thescreen went dead. One thousand and eighty-four dollars. That was plenty. He could safelyspend as much as half of it, if the spree got as lively as he hoped itwould. His monthly dividends were due in another week or so, and hewouldn't have to worry about current expenses. Yes, indeedy, Si Pondwas as solvent as he had ever been in his thirty years. He opened the small, closet-like door which housed his vacuum-tubetwo-seater, and wedged himself into the small vehicle. He brought downthe canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only oneplace really made sense. The big city. He considered for a moment, decided against the boroughs of Baltimoreand Boston, and selected Manhattan instead. He had the resources. Hemight as well do it up brown. He dialed Manhattan and felt the sinking sensation that presaged hiscar's dropping to tube level. While it was being taken up by the robotcontrols, being shuttled here and there preparatory to the shot to hisdestination, he dialed the vehicle's teevee-phone for information onthe hotels of the island of the Hudson. He selected a swank hostelryhe'd read about and seen on the teevee casts of society and celebritygossip reporters, and dialed it on the car's destination dial. Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond, he said aloud. The car hesitated for a moment, that brief hesitation before theshot, and Si took the involuntary breath from which only heroes couldrefrain. He sank back slowly into the seat. Moments passed, and thedirection of the pressure was reversed. Manhattan. The shuttling began again, and one or two more traversingsub-shots. Finally, the dash threw a green light and Si opened thecanopy and stepped into his hotel room. A voice said gently, If the quarters are satisfactory, please presentyour credit card within ten minutes. Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the mostswank suite he had ever seen. One wall was a window of whatever sizethe guest might desire and Si touched the control that dilated it tothe full. His view opened in such wise that he could see both theEmpire State Building Museum and the Hudson. Beyond the river stretchedthe all but endless city which was Greater Metropolis. He didn't take the time to flick on the menu, next to the auto-diningtable, nor to check the endless potables on the autobar list. All that,he well knew, would be superlative. Besides, he didn't plan to dineor do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless hemanaged to acquire some feminine companionship, that was. He looked briefly into the swimming pool and bath, then floppedhimself happily onto the bed. It wasn't up to the degree of softnesshe presently desired, and he dialed the thing to the ultimate in thatdirection so that with a laugh he sank almost out of sight into themattress. He came back to his feet, gave his suit a quick patting so that itfell into press and, taking his credit card from his pocket, put itagainst the teevee-phone screen and pressed the hotel button so thatregistration could be completed. For a moment he stood in the center of the floor, in thought. Take iteasy, Si Pond, take it all easy, this time. No throwing his dollarsaround in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias.This time, be it the only time in his life, he was going to frolic inthe grand manner. No cloddy was Si Pond. He decided a drink was in order to help him plan his strategy. A drinkat the hotel's famous Kudos Room where celebrities were reputed to be adime a dozen. He left the suite and stepped into one of the elevators. He said,Kudos Room. The auto-elevator murmured politely, Yes, sir, the Kudos Room. <doc-sep>At the door to the famous rendezvous of the swankiest set, Si paused amoment and looked about. He'd never been in a place like this, either.However, he stifled his first instinct to wonder about what this wasgoing to do to his current credit balance with an inner grin and madehis way to the bar. There was actually a bartender. Si Pond suppressed his astonishment and said, offhand, attempting anair of easy sophistication, Slivovitz Sour. Yes, sir. The drinks in the Kudos Room might be concocted by hand, but Si noticedthey had the routine teevee screens built into the bar for payment.He put his credit card on the screen immediately before him when thedrink came, and had to quell his desire to dial for a balance check, soas to be able to figure out what the Sour had cost him. Well, this was something like it. This was the sort of thing he'ddreamed about, out there in the great alone, seated in the confiningconning tower of his space craft. He sipped at the drink, finding it upto his highest expectations, and then swiveled slightly on his stool totake a look at the others present. To his disappointment, there were no recognizable celebrities. Nonethat he placed, at least—top teevee stars, top politicians of theUltrawelfare State or Sports personalities. He turned back to his drink and noticed, for the first time, the girlwho occupied the stool two down from him. Si Pond blinked. He blinkedand then swallowed. Zo-ro-as-ter , he breathed. She was done in the latest style from Shanghai, even to the point ofhaving cosmetically duplicated the Mongolian fold at the corners of hereyes. Every pore, but every pore, was in place. She sat with the easygrace of the Orient, so seldom found in the West. His stare couldn't be ignored. She looked at him coldly, turned to the bartender and murmured, A FarOut Cooler, please, Fredric. Then deliberately added, I thought theKudos Room was supposed to be exclusive. There was nothing the bartender could say to that, and he went aboutbuilding the drink. Si cleared his throat. Hey, he said, how about letting this one beon me? Her eyebrows, which had been plucked and penciled to carry out herOriental motif, rose. Really! she said, drawing it out. The bartender said hurriedly, I beg your pardon, sir.... The girl, her voice suddenly subtly changed, said, Why, isn't that aspace pin? Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, Yeah ... sure. Good Heavens, you're a spaceman? Sure. He pointed at the lapel pin. You can't wear one unless youbeen on at least a Moon run. She was obviously both taken back and impressed. Why, she said,you're Seymour Pond, the pilot. I tuned in on the banquet they gaveyou. Si, carrying his glass, moved over to the stool next to her. Call meSi, he said. Everybody calls me Si. She said, I'm Natalie. Natalie Paskov. Just Natalie. Imagine meetingSeymour Pond. Just sitting down next to him at a bar. Just like that. Si, Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anythinglike this rarified pulchritude. Maybe on teevee, of course, one of thecurrent sex symbols, but never in person. Call me Si, he said again.I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking toif they say Seymour. I cried when they gave you that antique watch, she said, her tonesuch that it was obvious she hadn't quite adjusted as yet to havingmet him. Si Pond was surprised. Cried? he said. Well, why? I was kind ofbored with the whole thing. But old Doc Gubelin, I used to work underhim in the Space Exploration department, he was hot for it. Academician Gubelin? she said. You just call him Doc ? Si was expansive. Why, sure. In the Space Department we don't havemuch time for formality. Everybody's just Si, and Doc, and Jim. Likethat. But how come you cried? <doc-sep>She looked down into the drink the bartender had placed before her,as though avoiding his face. I ... I suppose it was that speechDoctor Girard-Perregaux made. There you stood, so fine and straight inyour space-pilot uniform, the veteran of six exploration runs to theplanets.... Well, Si said modestly, two of my runs were only to the Moon. ... and he said all those things about man's conquest of space. Andthe dream of the stars which man has held so long. And then the factthat you were the last of the space pilots. The last man in the wholeworld trained to pilot a space craft. And here you were, retiring. Si grunted. Yeah. That's all part of the Doc's scheme to get me totake on another three runs. They're afraid the whole department'll bedropped by the Appropriations Committee on this here Economic PlanningBoard. Even if they can find some other patsy to train for the job,it'd take maybe a year before you could even send him on a Moon hop.So old man Gubelin, and Girard-Perregaux too, they're both trying topressure me into more trips. Otherwise they got a Space ExplorationDepartment, with all the expense and all, but nobody to pilot theirships. It's kind of funny, in a way. You know what one of thosespaceships costs? Funny? she said. Why, I don't think it's funny at all. Si said, Look, how about another drink? Natalie Paskov said, Oh, I'd love to have a drink with you, Mr.... Si, Si said. He motioned to the bartender with a circular twist ofthe hand indicating their need for two more of the same. How come youknow so much about it? You don't meet many people who are interestedin space any more. In fact, most people are almost contemptuous, like.Think it's kind of a big boondoggle deal to help use up a lot ofmaterials and all and keep the economy going. Natalie said earnestly, Why, I've been a space fan all my life. I'veread all about it. Have always known the names of all the space pilotsand everything about them, ever since I was a child. I suppose you'dsay I have the dream that Doctor Girard-Perregaux spoke about. Si chuckled. A real buff, eh? You know, it's kind of funny. I wasnever much interested in it. And I got a darn sight less interestedafter my first run and I found out what space cafard was. She frowned. I don't believe I know much about that. Sitting in the Kudos Room with the most beautiful girl to whom he hadever talked, Si could be nonchalant about the subject. Old Gubelinkeeps that angle mostly hushed up and out of the magazine and newspaperarticles. Says there's enough adverse publicity about space explorationalready. But at this stage of the game when the whole ship's crammedtight with this automatic scientific apparatus and all, there'sprecious little room in the conning tower and you're the only manaboard. The Doc says later on when ships are bigger and there's a wholeflock of people aboard, there won't be any such thing as space cafard,but.... Of a sudden the right side of Si Pond's mouth began to ticand he hurriedly took up his drink and knocked it back. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] Please describe the Ultrawelfare State.

The Ultrawelfare State is a distant future society, based upon the main ideas of communism. Every person in the state is guaranteed shares in the society, which translates to money, food, clothes, housing, medical care and education. The money of the nation is doled out by the economic planning board, who determine how the communal wealth is spent. Everyone is given a universal credit card, which only they can access, and they can check their balances on the teevee phones. The way in which people are selected to work in the state is very interesting. In this society, most jobs are automated, so very few people are unfortunate enough to have to work. People are selected for different jobs based on their physical and mental qualifications. People who don't work have their assigned shares to live off of, and those that are selected to work are given a little extra as compensation. When the society was first formed, they tried to give everyone work, but they realised that it was no good to have people working for two hours, two days a week, so they created the draft lottery. Most people live in small apartments, and the fortunate living Si, are able to afford vacuum tubes, which can take you anywhere in an instant. It is only the swankiest of places that have real people working in them. All payment is automated, and different settings of rooms can be changed in an instant in fancy hotels.

How do Gubelin and Perregaux plan to get Pond back in the space program? [SEP] <s> SPACEMAN ON A SPREE BY MACK REYNOLDS Illustrated by Nodel [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What's more important—Man's conquest of space, or one spaceman's life? I They gave him a gold watch. It was meant to be symbolical, of course.In the old tradition. It was in the way of an antique, being one of thetimepieces made generations past in the Alpine area of Eur-Asia. Itsquaintness lay in the fact that it was wound, not electronically bypower-radio, but by the actual physical movements of the bearer, a freeswinging rotor keeping the mainspring at a constant tension. They also had a banquet for him, complete with speeches by suchbigwigs of the Department of Space Exploration as Academician LoftingGubelin and Doctor Hans Girard-Perregaux. There was also somebodyfrom the government who spoke, but he was one of those who werepseudo-elected and didn't know much about the field of space travelnor the significance of Seymour Pond's retirement. Si didn't bother toremember his name. He only wondered vaguely why the cloddy had turnedup at all. In common with recipients of gold watches of a score of generationsbefore him, Si Pond would have preferred something a bit more tangiblein the way of reward, such as a few shares of Variable Basic to add tohis portfolio. But that, he supposed, was asking too much. The fact of the matter was, Si knew that his retiring had set themback. They hadn't figured he had enough shares of Basic to see himthrough decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards.But Space Pilot Seymour Pond didn't have their standards. He'd hadplenty of time to think it over. It was better to retire on a limitedcrediting, on a confoundedly limited crediting, than to take the two orthree more trips in hopes of attaining a higher standard. He'd had plenty of time to figure it out, there alone in space on theMoon run, there on the Venus or Mars runs. There on the long, longhaul to the Jupiter satellites, fearfully checking the symptoms ofspace cafard, the madness compounded of claustrophobia, monotony,boredom and free fall. Plenty of time. Time to decide that a oneroom mini-auto-apartment, complete with an autochair and built-inautobar, and with one wall a teevee screen, was all he needed tofind contentment for a mighty long time. Possibly somebody likeDoc Girard-Perregaux might be horrified at the idea of living in amini-auto-apartment ... not realizing that to a pilot it was roomybeyond belief compared to the conning tower of a space craft. No. Even as Si listened to their speeches, accepted the watch andmade a halting little talk of his own, he was grinning inwardly. Therewasn't anything they could do. He had them now. He had enough Basic tokeep him comfortably, by his standards, for the rest of his life. Hewas never going to subject himself to space cafard again. Just thinkingabout it, now, set the tic to going at the side of his mouth. They could count down and blast off, for all he gave a damn. <doc-sep>The gold watch idea had been that of Lofting Gubelin, which wastypical, he being in the way of a living anachronism himself. In fact,Academician Gubelin was possibly the only living man on North Americawho still wore spectacles. His explanation was that a phobia againsthaving his eyes touched prohibited either surgery to remould hiseyeballs and cure his myopia, or contact lenses. That was only an alibi so far as his closest associate, HansGirard-Perregaux, was concerned. Doctor Girard-Perregaux was convincedGubelin would have even worn facial hair, had he but a touch morecourage. Gubelin longed for yesteryear, a seldom found phenomenon underthe Ultrawelfare State. Slumped in an autochair in the escape room of his Floridian home,Lofting Gubelin scowled at his friend. He said, acidly, Any morebright schemes, Hans? I presume you now acknowledge that appealing tothe cloddy's patriotism, sentiment and desire for public acclaim havemiserably failed. Girard-Perregaux said easily, I wouldn't call Seymour Pond a cloddy.In his position, I am afraid I would do the same thing he has. That's nonsense, Hans. Zoroaster! Either you or I would gladly takePond's place were we capable of performing the duties for which he hasbeen trained. There aren't two men on North America—there aren't twomen in the world!—who better realize the urgency of continuing ourdelving into space. Gubelin snapped his fingers. Like that, either ofus would give our lives to prevent man from completely abandoning theroad to his destiny. His friend said drily, Either of us could have volunteered for pilottraining forty years ago, Lofting. We didn't. At that time there wasn't such a blistering percentage of funkersthroughout this whole blistering Ultrawelfare State! Who couldforesee that eventually our whole program would face ending due tolack of courageous young men willing to take chances, willing to faceadventure, willing to react to the stimulus of danger in the manner ourancestors did? Girard-Perregaux grunted his sarcasm and dialed a glass of iced teaand tequila. He said, Nevertheless, both you and I conform with thepresent generation in finding it far more pleasant to follow one'sway of life in the comfort of one's home than to be confronted withthe unpleasantness of facing nature's dangers in more adventurouspastimes. Gubelin, half angry at his friend's argument, leaned forward to snaprebuttal, but the other was wagging a finger at him negatively. Facereality, Lofting. Don't require or expect from Seymour Pond morethan is to be found there. He is an average young man. Born in ourUltrawelfare State, he was guaranteed his fundamental womb-to-tombsecurity by being issued that minimum number of Basic shares in oursociety that allows him an income sufficient to secure the food,clothing, shelter, medical care and education to sustain a low levelof subsistence. Percentages were against his ever being draftedinto industry. Automation being what it is, only a fraction of thepopulation is ever called up. But Pond was. His industrial aptitudedossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it wasyou yourself who talked him into taking the training ... pointing outthe more pragmatic advantages such as complete retirement after but sixtrips, added shares of Basic so that he could enjoy a more comfortablelife than most and the fame that would accrue to him as one of thevery few who still participate in travel to the planets. Very well.He was sold. Took his training, which, of course, required long yearsof drudgery to him. Then, performing his duties quite competently, hemade his six trips. He is now legally eligible for retirement. He wasdrafted into the working force reserves, served his time, and is nowfree from toil for the balance of his life. Why should he listen toour pleas for a few more trips? But has he no spirit of adventure? Has he no feeling for.... <doc-sep>Girard-Perregaux was wagging his finger again, a gesture that,seemingly mild though it was, had an astonishing ability to break offthe conversation of one who debated with the easy-seeming, quiet spokenman. He said, No, he hasn't. Few there are who have, nowadays. Man hasalways paid lip service to adventure, hardships and excitement, but inactuality his instincts, like those of any other animal, lead him tothe least dangerous path. Today we've reached the point where no oneneed face danger—ever. There are few who don't take advantage of thefact. Including you and me, Lofting, and including Seymour Pond. His friend and colleague changed subjects abruptly, impatiently. Let'sleave this blistering jabber about Pond's motivation and get to thepoint. The man is the only trained space pilot in the world. It willtake months, possibly more than a year, to bring another novitiatepilot to the point where he can safely be trusted to take our nextexplorer craft out. Appropriations for our expeditions have beenincreasingly hard to come by—even though in our minds, Hans, we arenear important breakthroughs, breakthroughs which might possibly sospark the race that a new dream to push man out to the stars will takehold of us. If it is admitted that our organization has degeneratedto the point that we haven't a single pilot, then it might well bethat the Economic Planning Board, and especially those cloddieson Appropriations, will terminate the whole Department of SpaceExploration. So.... Girard-Perregaux said gently. So some way we've got to bring Seymour Pond out of his retirement! Now we are getting to matters. Girard-Perregaux nodded his agreement.Looking over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowed in thought as hisface took on an expression of Machiavellianism. And do not the endsjustify the means? Gubelin blinked at him. The other chuckled. The trouble with you, Lofting, is that you havefailed to bring history to bear on our problem. Haven't you ever readof the sailor and his way of life? Sailor? What in the name of the living Zoroaster has the sailor got todo with it? You must realize, my dear Lofting, that our Si Pond is nothing morethan a latter-day sailor, with many of the problems and view-points,tendencies and weaknesses of the voyager of the past. Have you neverheard of the seaman who dreamed of returning to the village of hisbirth and buying a chicken farm or some such? All the long months atsea—and sometimes the tramp freighters or whaling craft would be outfor years at a stretch before returning to home port—he would talkof his retirement and his dream. And then? Then in port, it would beone short drink with the boys, before taking his accumulated pay andheading home. The one short drink would lead to another. And morningwould find him, drunk, rolled, tattooed and possibly sleeping it off injail. So back to sea he'd have to go. Gubelin grunted bitterly. Unfortunately, our present-day sailorcan't be separated from his money quite so easily. If he could, I'dpersonally be willing to lure him down some dark alley, knock him overthe head and roll him myself. Just to bring him back to his job again. He brought his wallet from his pocket, and flicked it open to hisuniversal credit card. The ultimate means of exchange, he grunted.Nobody can spend your money, but you, yourself. Nobody can steal it,nobody can, ah, con you out of it. Just how do you expect to severour present-day sailor and his accumulated nest egg? The other chuckled again. It is simply a matter of finding more modernmethods, my dear chap. <doc-sep>II Si Pond was a great believer in the institution of the spree. Anyexcuse would do. Back when he had finished basic education at the ageof twenty-five and was registered for the labor draft, there hadn'tbeen a chance in a hundred that he'd have the bad luck to have hisname pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated. When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualificationswere such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation inthe Ultrawelfare State and had been pressured into taking trainingfor space pilot, he had celebrated once again. Twenty-two others hadtaken the training with him, and only he and Rod Cameroon had passedthe finals. On this occasion, he and Rod had celebrated together. Ithad been quite a party. Two weeks later, Rod had burned on a faultytake-off on what should have been a routine Moon run. Each time Si returned from one of his own runs, he celebrated. A spree,a bust, a bat, a wing-ding, a night on the town. A commemoration ofdangers met and passed. Now it was all over. At the age of thirty he was retired. Law preventedhim from ever being called up for contributing to the country's laborneeds again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer. He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn'tany particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get thereputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of thefellas. You could do the same in life whether you really studied ornot. You had your Inalienable Basic stock, didn't you? What else didyou need? It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force. In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistakein adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution.They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number ofworking hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week.It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were workingbut two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. Itbecame obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting inthirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it wasto have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and noneof them ever really becoming efficient. The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remainunemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent ofunemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in areasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a yearand a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employeeswere needed, a draft lottery was held. All persons registered in the labor force participated. If youwere drawn, you must need serve. The dissatisfaction those chosenmight feel at their poor luck was offset by the fact that they weregranted additional Variable Basic shares, according to the tasksthey fulfilled. Such shares could be added to their portfolios, thedividends becoming part of their current credit balance, or could besold for a lump sum on the market. Yes, but now it was all over. He had his own little place, his ownvacuum-tube vehicle and twice the amount of shares of Basic that mostof his fellow citizens could boast. Si Pond had it made. A spree wasobviously called for. He was going to do this one right. This was the big one. He'daccumulated a lot of dollars these past few months and he intendedto blow them, or at least a sizeable number of them. His credit cardwas burning a hole in his pocket, as the expression went. However, hewasn't going to rush into things. This had to be done correctly. Too many a spree was played by ear. You started off with a few drinks,fell in with some second rate mopsy and usually wound up in a thirdrate groggery where you spent just as much as though you'd been in theclassiest joint in town. Came morning and you had nothing to show forall the dollars that had been spent but a rum-head. Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through thecenturies since the Phoenecian sailor, back from his year-long trip tothe tin mines of Cornwall, blew his hard earned share of the voyage'sprofits in a matter of days in the wine shops of Tyre. Nobody getsquite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he whomust leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically andusually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spenthurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so longdenied him. Si was going to do it differently this time. Nothing but the best. Wine, women, song, food, entertainment. Theworks. But nothing but the best. <doc-sep>To start off, he dressed with great care in the honorableretirement-rank suit he had so recently purchased. His space pin heattached carefully to the lapel. That was a good beginning, he decided.A bit of prestige didn't hurt you when you went out on the town. Inthe Ultrawelfare State hardly one person in a hundred actually everperformed anything of value to society. The efforts of most weren'tneeded. Those few who did contribute were awarded honors, decorations,titles. Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his creditcard was in his pocket. As an after-thought, he went over to theauto-apartment's teevee-phone, flicked it on, held the card to thescreen and said, Balance check, please. In a moment, the teevee-phone's robot voice reported, Ten shares ofInalienable Basic. Twelve shares of Variable Basic, current value, fourthousand, two hundred and thirty-three dollars and sixty-two centsapiece. Current cash credit, one thousand and eighty-four dollars. Thescreen went dead. One thousand and eighty-four dollars. That was plenty. He could safelyspend as much as half of it, if the spree got as lively as he hoped itwould. His monthly dividends were due in another week or so, and hewouldn't have to worry about current expenses. Yes, indeedy, Si Pondwas as solvent as he had ever been in his thirty years. He opened the small, closet-like door which housed his vacuum-tubetwo-seater, and wedged himself into the small vehicle. He brought downthe canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only oneplace really made sense. The big city. He considered for a moment, decided against the boroughs of Baltimoreand Boston, and selected Manhattan instead. He had the resources. Hemight as well do it up brown. He dialed Manhattan and felt the sinking sensation that presaged hiscar's dropping to tube level. While it was being taken up by the robotcontrols, being shuttled here and there preparatory to the shot to hisdestination, he dialed the vehicle's teevee-phone for information onthe hotels of the island of the Hudson. He selected a swank hostelryhe'd read about and seen on the teevee casts of society and celebritygossip reporters, and dialed it on the car's destination dial. Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond, he said aloud. The car hesitated for a moment, that brief hesitation before theshot, and Si took the involuntary breath from which only heroes couldrefrain. He sank back slowly into the seat. Moments passed, and thedirection of the pressure was reversed. Manhattan. The shuttling began again, and one or two more traversingsub-shots. Finally, the dash threw a green light and Si opened thecanopy and stepped into his hotel room. A voice said gently, If the quarters are satisfactory, please presentyour credit card within ten minutes. Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the mostswank suite he had ever seen. One wall was a window of whatever sizethe guest might desire and Si touched the control that dilated it tothe full. His view opened in such wise that he could see both theEmpire State Building Museum and the Hudson. Beyond the river stretchedthe all but endless city which was Greater Metropolis. He didn't take the time to flick on the menu, next to the auto-diningtable, nor to check the endless potables on the autobar list. All that,he well knew, would be superlative. Besides, he didn't plan to dineor do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless hemanaged to acquire some feminine companionship, that was. He looked briefly into the swimming pool and bath, then floppedhimself happily onto the bed. It wasn't up to the degree of softnesshe presently desired, and he dialed the thing to the ultimate in thatdirection so that with a laugh he sank almost out of sight into themattress. He came back to his feet, gave his suit a quick patting so that itfell into press and, taking his credit card from his pocket, put itagainst the teevee-phone screen and pressed the hotel button so thatregistration could be completed. For a moment he stood in the center of the floor, in thought. Take iteasy, Si Pond, take it all easy, this time. No throwing his dollarsaround in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias.This time, be it the only time in his life, he was going to frolic inthe grand manner. No cloddy was Si Pond. He decided a drink was in order to help him plan his strategy. A drinkat the hotel's famous Kudos Room where celebrities were reputed to be adime a dozen. He left the suite and stepped into one of the elevators. He said,Kudos Room. The auto-elevator murmured politely, Yes, sir, the Kudos Room. <doc-sep>At the door to the famous rendezvous of the swankiest set, Si paused amoment and looked about. He'd never been in a place like this, either.However, he stifled his first instinct to wonder about what this wasgoing to do to his current credit balance with an inner grin and madehis way to the bar. There was actually a bartender. Si Pond suppressed his astonishment and said, offhand, attempting anair of easy sophistication, Slivovitz Sour. Yes, sir. The drinks in the Kudos Room might be concocted by hand, but Si noticedthey had the routine teevee screens built into the bar for payment.He put his credit card on the screen immediately before him when thedrink came, and had to quell his desire to dial for a balance check, soas to be able to figure out what the Sour had cost him. Well, this was something like it. This was the sort of thing he'ddreamed about, out there in the great alone, seated in the confiningconning tower of his space craft. He sipped at the drink, finding it upto his highest expectations, and then swiveled slightly on his stool totake a look at the others present. To his disappointment, there were no recognizable celebrities. Nonethat he placed, at least—top teevee stars, top politicians of theUltrawelfare State or Sports personalities. He turned back to his drink and noticed, for the first time, the girlwho occupied the stool two down from him. Si Pond blinked. He blinkedand then swallowed. Zo-ro-as-ter , he breathed. She was done in the latest style from Shanghai, even to the point ofhaving cosmetically duplicated the Mongolian fold at the corners of hereyes. Every pore, but every pore, was in place. She sat with the easygrace of the Orient, so seldom found in the West. His stare couldn't be ignored. She looked at him coldly, turned to the bartender and murmured, A FarOut Cooler, please, Fredric. Then deliberately added, I thought theKudos Room was supposed to be exclusive. There was nothing the bartender could say to that, and he went aboutbuilding the drink. Si cleared his throat. Hey, he said, how about letting this one beon me? Her eyebrows, which had been plucked and penciled to carry out herOriental motif, rose. Really! she said, drawing it out. The bartender said hurriedly, I beg your pardon, sir.... The girl, her voice suddenly subtly changed, said, Why, isn't that aspace pin? Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, Yeah ... sure. Good Heavens, you're a spaceman? Sure. He pointed at the lapel pin. You can't wear one unless youbeen on at least a Moon run. She was obviously both taken back and impressed. Why, she said,you're Seymour Pond, the pilot. I tuned in on the banquet they gaveyou. Si, carrying his glass, moved over to the stool next to her. Call meSi, he said. Everybody calls me Si. She said, I'm Natalie. Natalie Paskov. Just Natalie. Imagine meetingSeymour Pond. Just sitting down next to him at a bar. Just like that. Si, Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anythinglike this rarified pulchritude. Maybe on teevee, of course, one of thecurrent sex symbols, but never in person. Call me Si, he said again.I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking toif they say Seymour. I cried when they gave you that antique watch, she said, her tonesuch that it was obvious she hadn't quite adjusted as yet to havingmet him. Si Pond was surprised. Cried? he said. Well, why? I was kind ofbored with the whole thing. But old Doc Gubelin, I used to work underhim in the Space Exploration department, he was hot for it. Academician Gubelin? she said. You just call him Doc ? Si was expansive. Why, sure. In the Space Department we don't havemuch time for formality. Everybody's just Si, and Doc, and Jim. Likethat. But how come you cried? <doc-sep>She looked down into the drink the bartender had placed before her,as though avoiding his face. I ... I suppose it was that speechDoctor Girard-Perregaux made. There you stood, so fine and straight inyour space-pilot uniform, the veteran of six exploration runs to theplanets.... Well, Si said modestly, two of my runs were only to the Moon. ... and he said all those things about man's conquest of space. Andthe dream of the stars which man has held so long. And then the factthat you were the last of the space pilots. The last man in the wholeworld trained to pilot a space craft. And here you were, retiring. Si grunted. Yeah. That's all part of the Doc's scheme to get me totake on another three runs. They're afraid the whole department'll bedropped by the Appropriations Committee on this here Economic PlanningBoard. Even if they can find some other patsy to train for the job,it'd take maybe a year before you could even send him on a Moon hop.So old man Gubelin, and Girard-Perregaux too, they're both trying topressure me into more trips. Otherwise they got a Space ExplorationDepartment, with all the expense and all, but nobody to pilot theirships. It's kind of funny, in a way. You know what one of thosespaceships costs? Funny? she said. Why, I don't think it's funny at all. Si said, Look, how about another drink? Natalie Paskov said, Oh, I'd love to have a drink with you, Mr.... Si, Si said. He motioned to the bartender with a circular twist ofthe hand indicating their need for two more of the same. How come youknow so much about it? You don't meet many people who are interestedin space any more. In fact, most people are almost contemptuous, like.Think it's kind of a big boondoggle deal to help use up a lot ofmaterials and all and keep the economy going. Natalie said earnestly, Why, I've been a space fan all my life. I'veread all about it. Have always known the names of all the space pilotsand everything about them, ever since I was a child. I suppose you'dsay I have the dream that Doctor Girard-Perregaux spoke about. Si chuckled. A real buff, eh? You know, it's kind of funny. I wasnever much interested in it. And I got a darn sight less interestedafter my first run and I found out what space cafard was. She frowned. I don't believe I know much about that. Sitting in the Kudos Room with the most beautiful girl to whom he hadever talked, Si could be nonchalant about the subject. Old Gubelinkeeps that angle mostly hushed up and out of the magazine and newspaperarticles. Says there's enough adverse publicity about space explorationalready. But at this stage of the game when the whole ship's crammedtight with this automatic scientific apparatus and all, there'sprecious little room in the conning tower and you're the only manaboard. The Doc says later on when ships are bigger and there's a wholeflock of people aboard, there won't be any such thing as space cafard,but.... Of a sudden the right side of Si Pond's mouth began to ticand he hurriedly took up his drink and knocked it back. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] How do Gubelin and Perregaux plan to get Pond back in the space program?

Gubelin and Perregaux know that they must get Pond back into their program, if they are going to save it from their funding being cut. Perregaux tells Gubelin about a theory, where a sailor, who has been out at sea for many months, will always blow his hard earned money on one night out the minute he's back in town, no matter how much he wanted to save it. This is because of the loneliness of the sailor, and their need to make up for all the experiences that he has missed out on while he was at sea. The sailor will wake up the next morning, having spent all his money, without a cent to his name. Then, he will have to go back out to sea, to make back the money he has lost, so the cycle continues. Perregaux believes that Pond is this sailor, and if only they could set a trap for him, in which it would cause him to lose all his money in one night, he would have to go back to work for them. They plant Natalie Paskov, a beautiful woman at the bar where Pond goes. She interacts with him as if he's famous, stroking his ego. She then goes on to show her disdain for the idea that he has retired, and he orders them drinks. And so the night begins, with Pond starting to get drunk, and lose all his money to Natalie.

What was Seymour Pond's job, how was he selected for it, and what did it entail? [SEP] <s> SPACEMAN ON A SPREE BY MACK REYNOLDS Illustrated by Nodel [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What's more important—Man's conquest of space, or one spaceman's life? I They gave him a gold watch. It was meant to be symbolical, of course.In the old tradition. It was in the way of an antique, being one of thetimepieces made generations past in the Alpine area of Eur-Asia. Itsquaintness lay in the fact that it was wound, not electronically bypower-radio, but by the actual physical movements of the bearer, a freeswinging rotor keeping the mainspring at a constant tension. They also had a banquet for him, complete with speeches by suchbigwigs of the Department of Space Exploration as Academician LoftingGubelin and Doctor Hans Girard-Perregaux. There was also somebodyfrom the government who spoke, but he was one of those who werepseudo-elected and didn't know much about the field of space travelnor the significance of Seymour Pond's retirement. Si didn't bother toremember his name. He only wondered vaguely why the cloddy had turnedup at all. In common with recipients of gold watches of a score of generationsbefore him, Si Pond would have preferred something a bit more tangiblein the way of reward, such as a few shares of Variable Basic to add tohis portfolio. But that, he supposed, was asking too much. The fact of the matter was, Si knew that his retiring had set themback. They hadn't figured he had enough shares of Basic to see himthrough decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards.But Space Pilot Seymour Pond didn't have their standards. He'd hadplenty of time to think it over. It was better to retire on a limitedcrediting, on a confoundedly limited crediting, than to take the two orthree more trips in hopes of attaining a higher standard. He'd had plenty of time to figure it out, there alone in space on theMoon run, there on the Venus or Mars runs. There on the long, longhaul to the Jupiter satellites, fearfully checking the symptoms ofspace cafard, the madness compounded of claustrophobia, monotony,boredom and free fall. Plenty of time. Time to decide that a oneroom mini-auto-apartment, complete with an autochair and built-inautobar, and with one wall a teevee screen, was all he needed tofind contentment for a mighty long time. Possibly somebody likeDoc Girard-Perregaux might be horrified at the idea of living in amini-auto-apartment ... not realizing that to a pilot it was roomybeyond belief compared to the conning tower of a space craft. No. Even as Si listened to their speeches, accepted the watch andmade a halting little talk of his own, he was grinning inwardly. Therewasn't anything they could do. He had them now. He had enough Basic tokeep him comfortably, by his standards, for the rest of his life. Hewas never going to subject himself to space cafard again. Just thinkingabout it, now, set the tic to going at the side of his mouth. They could count down and blast off, for all he gave a damn. <doc-sep>The gold watch idea had been that of Lofting Gubelin, which wastypical, he being in the way of a living anachronism himself. In fact,Academician Gubelin was possibly the only living man on North Americawho still wore spectacles. His explanation was that a phobia againsthaving his eyes touched prohibited either surgery to remould hiseyeballs and cure his myopia, or contact lenses. That was only an alibi so far as his closest associate, HansGirard-Perregaux, was concerned. Doctor Girard-Perregaux was convincedGubelin would have even worn facial hair, had he but a touch morecourage. Gubelin longed for yesteryear, a seldom found phenomenon underthe Ultrawelfare State. Slumped in an autochair in the escape room of his Floridian home,Lofting Gubelin scowled at his friend. He said, acidly, Any morebright schemes, Hans? I presume you now acknowledge that appealing tothe cloddy's patriotism, sentiment and desire for public acclaim havemiserably failed. Girard-Perregaux said easily, I wouldn't call Seymour Pond a cloddy.In his position, I am afraid I would do the same thing he has. That's nonsense, Hans. Zoroaster! Either you or I would gladly takePond's place were we capable of performing the duties for which he hasbeen trained. There aren't two men on North America—there aren't twomen in the world!—who better realize the urgency of continuing ourdelving into space. Gubelin snapped his fingers. Like that, either ofus would give our lives to prevent man from completely abandoning theroad to his destiny. His friend said drily, Either of us could have volunteered for pilottraining forty years ago, Lofting. We didn't. At that time there wasn't such a blistering percentage of funkersthroughout this whole blistering Ultrawelfare State! Who couldforesee that eventually our whole program would face ending due tolack of courageous young men willing to take chances, willing to faceadventure, willing to react to the stimulus of danger in the manner ourancestors did? Girard-Perregaux grunted his sarcasm and dialed a glass of iced teaand tequila. He said, Nevertheless, both you and I conform with thepresent generation in finding it far more pleasant to follow one'sway of life in the comfort of one's home than to be confronted withthe unpleasantness of facing nature's dangers in more adventurouspastimes. Gubelin, half angry at his friend's argument, leaned forward to snaprebuttal, but the other was wagging a finger at him negatively. Facereality, Lofting. Don't require or expect from Seymour Pond morethan is to be found there. He is an average young man. Born in ourUltrawelfare State, he was guaranteed his fundamental womb-to-tombsecurity by being issued that minimum number of Basic shares in oursociety that allows him an income sufficient to secure the food,clothing, shelter, medical care and education to sustain a low levelof subsistence. Percentages were against his ever being draftedinto industry. Automation being what it is, only a fraction of thepopulation is ever called up. But Pond was. His industrial aptitudedossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it wasyou yourself who talked him into taking the training ... pointing outthe more pragmatic advantages such as complete retirement after but sixtrips, added shares of Basic so that he could enjoy a more comfortablelife than most and the fame that would accrue to him as one of thevery few who still participate in travel to the planets. Very well.He was sold. Took his training, which, of course, required long yearsof drudgery to him. Then, performing his duties quite competently, hemade his six trips. He is now legally eligible for retirement. He wasdrafted into the working force reserves, served his time, and is nowfree from toil for the balance of his life. Why should he listen toour pleas for a few more trips? But has he no spirit of adventure? Has he no feeling for.... <doc-sep>Girard-Perregaux was wagging his finger again, a gesture that,seemingly mild though it was, had an astonishing ability to break offthe conversation of one who debated with the easy-seeming, quiet spokenman. He said, No, he hasn't. Few there are who have, nowadays. Man hasalways paid lip service to adventure, hardships and excitement, but inactuality his instincts, like those of any other animal, lead him tothe least dangerous path. Today we've reached the point where no oneneed face danger—ever. There are few who don't take advantage of thefact. Including you and me, Lofting, and including Seymour Pond. His friend and colleague changed subjects abruptly, impatiently. Let'sleave this blistering jabber about Pond's motivation and get to thepoint. The man is the only trained space pilot in the world. It willtake months, possibly more than a year, to bring another novitiatepilot to the point where he can safely be trusted to take our nextexplorer craft out. Appropriations for our expeditions have beenincreasingly hard to come by—even though in our minds, Hans, we arenear important breakthroughs, breakthroughs which might possibly sospark the race that a new dream to push man out to the stars will takehold of us. If it is admitted that our organization has degeneratedto the point that we haven't a single pilot, then it might well bethat the Economic Planning Board, and especially those cloddieson Appropriations, will terminate the whole Department of SpaceExploration. So.... Girard-Perregaux said gently. So some way we've got to bring Seymour Pond out of his retirement! Now we are getting to matters. Girard-Perregaux nodded his agreement.Looking over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowed in thought as hisface took on an expression of Machiavellianism. And do not the endsjustify the means? Gubelin blinked at him. The other chuckled. The trouble with you, Lofting, is that you havefailed to bring history to bear on our problem. Haven't you ever readof the sailor and his way of life? Sailor? What in the name of the living Zoroaster has the sailor got todo with it? You must realize, my dear Lofting, that our Si Pond is nothing morethan a latter-day sailor, with many of the problems and view-points,tendencies and weaknesses of the voyager of the past. Have you neverheard of the seaman who dreamed of returning to the village of hisbirth and buying a chicken farm or some such? All the long months atsea—and sometimes the tramp freighters or whaling craft would be outfor years at a stretch before returning to home port—he would talkof his retirement and his dream. And then? Then in port, it would beone short drink with the boys, before taking his accumulated pay andheading home. The one short drink would lead to another. And morningwould find him, drunk, rolled, tattooed and possibly sleeping it off injail. So back to sea he'd have to go. Gubelin grunted bitterly. Unfortunately, our present-day sailorcan't be separated from his money quite so easily. If he could, I'dpersonally be willing to lure him down some dark alley, knock him overthe head and roll him myself. Just to bring him back to his job again. He brought his wallet from his pocket, and flicked it open to hisuniversal credit card. The ultimate means of exchange, he grunted.Nobody can spend your money, but you, yourself. Nobody can steal it,nobody can, ah, con you out of it. Just how do you expect to severour present-day sailor and his accumulated nest egg? The other chuckled again. It is simply a matter of finding more modernmethods, my dear chap. <doc-sep>II Si Pond was a great believer in the institution of the spree. Anyexcuse would do. Back when he had finished basic education at the ageof twenty-five and was registered for the labor draft, there hadn'tbeen a chance in a hundred that he'd have the bad luck to have hisname pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated. When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualificationswere such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation inthe Ultrawelfare State and had been pressured into taking trainingfor space pilot, he had celebrated once again. Twenty-two others hadtaken the training with him, and only he and Rod Cameroon had passedthe finals. On this occasion, he and Rod had celebrated together. Ithad been quite a party. Two weeks later, Rod had burned on a faultytake-off on what should have been a routine Moon run. Each time Si returned from one of his own runs, he celebrated. A spree,a bust, a bat, a wing-ding, a night on the town. A commemoration ofdangers met and passed. Now it was all over. At the age of thirty he was retired. Law preventedhim from ever being called up for contributing to the country's laborneeds again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer. He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn'tany particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get thereputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of thefellas. You could do the same in life whether you really studied ornot. You had your Inalienable Basic stock, didn't you? What else didyou need? It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force. In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistakein adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution.They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number ofworking hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week.It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were workingbut two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. Itbecame obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting inthirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it wasto have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and noneof them ever really becoming efficient. The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remainunemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent ofunemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in areasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a yearand a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employeeswere needed, a draft lottery was held. All persons registered in the labor force participated. If youwere drawn, you must need serve. The dissatisfaction those chosenmight feel at their poor luck was offset by the fact that they weregranted additional Variable Basic shares, according to the tasksthey fulfilled. Such shares could be added to their portfolios, thedividends becoming part of their current credit balance, or could besold for a lump sum on the market. Yes, but now it was all over. He had his own little place, his ownvacuum-tube vehicle and twice the amount of shares of Basic that mostof his fellow citizens could boast. Si Pond had it made. A spree wasobviously called for. He was going to do this one right. This was the big one. He'daccumulated a lot of dollars these past few months and he intendedto blow them, or at least a sizeable number of them. His credit cardwas burning a hole in his pocket, as the expression went. However, hewasn't going to rush into things. This had to be done correctly. Too many a spree was played by ear. You started off with a few drinks,fell in with some second rate mopsy and usually wound up in a thirdrate groggery where you spent just as much as though you'd been in theclassiest joint in town. Came morning and you had nothing to show forall the dollars that had been spent but a rum-head. Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through thecenturies since the Phoenecian sailor, back from his year-long trip tothe tin mines of Cornwall, blew his hard earned share of the voyage'sprofits in a matter of days in the wine shops of Tyre. Nobody getsquite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he whomust leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically andusually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spenthurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so longdenied him. Si was going to do it differently this time. Nothing but the best. Wine, women, song, food, entertainment. Theworks. But nothing but the best. <doc-sep>To start off, he dressed with great care in the honorableretirement-rank suit he had so recently purchased. His space pin heattached carefully to the lapel. That was a good beginning, he decided.A bit of prestige didn't hurt you when you went out on the town. Inthe Ultrawelfare State hardly one person in a hundred actually everperformed anything of value to society. The efforts of most weren'tneeded. Those few who did contribute were awarded honors, decorations,titles. Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his creditcard was in his pocket. As an after-thought, he went over to theauto-apartment's teevee-phone, flicked it on, held the card to thescreen and said, Balance check, please. In a moment, the teevee-phone's robot voice reported, Ten shares ofInalienable Basic. Twelve shares of Variable Basic, current value, fourthousand, two hundred and thirty-three dollars and sixty-two centsapiece. Current cash credit, one thousand and eighty-four dollars. Thescreen went dead. One thousand and eighty-four dollars. That was plenty. He could safelyspend as much as half of it, if the spree got as lively as he hoped itwould. His monthly dividends were due in another week or so, and hewouldn't have to worry about current expenses. Yes, indeedy, Si Pondwas as solvent as he had ever been in his thirty years. He opened the small, closet-like door which housed his vacuum-tubetwo-seater, and wedged himself into the small vehicle. He brought downthe canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only oneplace really made sense. The big city. He considered for a moment, decided against the boroughs of Baltimoreand Boston, and selected Manhattan instead. He had the resources. Hemight as well do it up brown. He dialed Manhattan and felt the sinking sensation that presaged hiscar's dropping to tube level. While it was being taken up by the robotcontrols, being shuttled here and there preparatory to the shot to hisdestination, he dialed the vehicle's teevee-phone for information onthe hotels of the island of the Hudson. He selected a swank hostelryhe'd read about and seen on the teevee casts of society and celebritygossip reporters, and dialed it on the car's destination dial. Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond, he said aloud. The car hesitated for a moment, that brief hesitation before theshot, and Si took the involuntary breath from which only heroes couldrefrain. He sank back slowly into the seat. Moments passed, and thedirection of the pressure was reversed. Manhattan. The shuttling began again, and one or two more traversingsub-shots. Finally, the dash threw a green light and Si opened thecanopy and stepped into his hotel room. A voice said gently, If the quarters are satisfactory, please presentyour credit card within ten minutes. Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the mostswank suite he had ever seen. One wall was a window of whatever sizethe guest might desire and Si touched the control that dilated it tothe full. His view opened in such wise that he could see both theEmpire State Building Museum and the Hudson. Beyond the river stretchedthe all but endless city which was Greater Metropolis. He didn't take the time to flick on the menu, next to the auto-diningtable, nor to check the endless potables on the autobar list. All that,he well knew, would be superlative. Besides, he didn't plan to dineor do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless hemanaged to acquire some feminine companionship, that was. He looked briefly into the swimming pool and bath, then floppedhimself happily onto the bed. It wasn't up to the degree of softnesshe presently desired, and he dialed the thing to the ultimate in thatdirection so that with a laugh he sank almost out of sight into themattress. He came back to his feet, gave his suit a quick patting so that itfell into press and, taking his credit card from his pocket, put itagainst the teevee-phone screen and pressed the hotel button so thatregistration could be completed. For a moment he stood in the center of the floor, in thought. Take iteasy, Si Pond, take it all easy, this time. No throwing his dollarsaround in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias.This time, be it the only time in his life, he was going to frolic inthe grand manner. No cloddy was Si Pond. He decided a drink was in order to help him plan his strategy. A drinkat the hotel's famous Kudos Room where celebrities were reputed to be adime a dozen. He left the suite and stepped into one of the elevators. He said,Kudos Room. The auto-elevator murmured politely, Yes, sir, the Kudos Room. <doc-sep>At the door to the famous rendezvous of the swankiest set, Si paused amoment and looked about. He'd never been in a place like this, either.However, he stifled his first instinct to wonder about what this wasgoing to do to his current credit balance with an inner grin and madehis way to the bar. There was actually a bartender. Si Pond suppressed his astonishment and said, offhand, attempting anair of easy sophistication, Slivovitz Sour. Yes, sir. The drinks in the Kudos Room might be concocted by hand, but Si noticedthey had the routine teevee screens built into the bar for payment.He put his credit card on the screen immediately before him when thedrink came, and had to quell his desire to dial for a balance check, soas to be able to figure out what the Sour had cost him. Well, this was something like it. This was the sort of thing he'ddreamed about, out there in the great alone, seated in the confiningconning tower of his space craft. He sipped at the drink, finding it upto his highest expectations, and then swiveled slightly on his stool totake a look at the others present. To his disappointment, there were no recognizable celebrities. Nonethat he placed, at least—top teevee stars, top politicians of theUltrawelfare State or Sports personalities. He turned back to his drink and noticed, for the first time, the girlwho occupied the stool two down from him. Si Pond blinked. He blinkedand then swallowed. Zo-ro-as-ter , he breathed. She was done in the latest style from Shanghai, even to the point ofhaving cosmetically duplicated the Mongolian fold at the corners of hereyes. Every pore, but every pore, was in place. She sat with the easygrace of the Orient, so seldom found in the West. His stare couldn't be ignored. She looked at him coldly, turned to the bartender and murmured, A FarOut Cooler, please, Fredric. Then deliberately added, I thought theKudos Room was supposed to be exclusive. There was nothing the bartender could say to that, and he went aboutbuilding the drink. Si cleared his throat. Hey, he said, how about letting this one beon me? Her eyebrows, which had been plucked and penciled to carry out herOriental motif, rose. Really! she said, drawing it out. The bartender said hurriedly, I beg your pardon, sir.... The girl, her voice suddenly subtly changed, said, Why, isn't that aspace pin? Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, Yeah ... sure. Good Heavens, you're a spaceman? Sure. He pointed at the lapel pin. You can't wear one unless youbeen on at least a Moon run. She was obviously both taken back and impressed. Why, she said,you're Seymour Pond, the pilot. I tuned in on the banquet they gaveyou. Si, carrying his glass, moved over to the stool next to her. Call meSi, he said. Everybody calls me Si. She said, I'm Natalie. Natalie Paskov. Just Natalie. Imagine meetingSeymour Pond. Just sitting down next to him at a bar. Just like that. Si, Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anythinglike this rarified pulchritude. Maybe on teevee, of course, one of thecurrent sex symbols, but never in person. Call me Si, he said again.I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking toif they say Seymour. I cried when they gave you that antique watch, she said, her tonesuch that it was obvious she hadn't quite adjusted as yet to havingmet him. Si Pond was surprised. Cried? he said. Well, why? I was kind ofbored with the whole thing. But old Doc Gubelin, I used to work underhim in the Space Exploration department, he was hot for it. Academician Gubelin? she said. You just call him Doc ? Si was expansive. Why, sure. In the Space Department we don't havemuch time for formality. Everybody's just Si, and Doc, and Jim. Likethat. But how come you cried? <doc-sep>She looked down into the drink the bartender had placed before her,as though avoiding his face. I ... I suppose it was that speechDoctor Girard-Perregaux made. There you stood, so fine and straight inyour space-pilot uniform, the veteran of six exploration runs to theplanets.... Well, Si said modestly, two of my runs were only to the Moon. ... and he said all those things about man's conquest of space. Andthe dream of the stars which man has held so long. And then the factthat you were the last of the space pilots. The last man in the wholeworld trained to pilot a space craft. And here you were, retiring. Si grunted. Yeah. That's all part of the Doc's scheme to get me totake on another three runs. They're afraid the whole department'll bedropped by the Appropriations Committee on this here Economic PlanningBoard. Even if they can find some other patsy to train for the job,it'd take maybe a year before you could even send him on a Moon hop.So old man Gubelin, and Girard-Perregaux too, they're both trying topressure me into more trips. Otherwise they got a Space ExplorationDepartment, with all the expense and all, but nobody to pilot theirships. It's kind of funny, in a way. You know what one of thosespaceships costs? Funny? she said. Why, I don't think it's funny at all. Si said, Look, how about another drink? Natalie Paskov said, Oh, I'd love to have a drink with you, Mr.... Si, Si said. He motioned to the bartender with a circular twist ofthe hand indicating their need for two more of the same. How come youknow so much about it? You don't meet many people who are interestedin space any more. In fact, most people are almost contemptuous, like.Think it's kind of a big boondoggle deal to help use up a lot ofmaterials and all and keep the economy going. Natalie said earnestly, Why, I've been a space fan all my life. I'veread all about it. Have always known the names of all the space pilotsand everything about them, ever since I was a child. I suppose you'dsay I have the dream that Doctor Girard-Perregaux spoke about. Si chuckled. A real buff, eh? You know, it's kind of funny. I wasnever much interested in it. And I got a darn sight less interestedafter my first run and I found out what space cafard was. She frowned. I don't believe I know much about that. Sitting in the Kudos Room with the most beautiful girl to whom he hadever talked, Si could be nonchalant about the subject. Old Gubelinkeeps that angle mostly hushed up and out of the magazine and newspaperarticles. Says there's enough adverse publicity about space explorationalready. But at this stage of the game when the whole ship's crammedtight with this automatic scientific apparatus and all, there'sprecious little room in the conning tower and you're the only manaboard. The Doc says later on when ships are bigger and there's a wholeflock of people aboard, there won't be any such thing as space cafard,but.... Of a sudden the right side of Si Pond's mouth began to ticand he hurriedly took up his drink and knocked it back. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What was Seymour Pond's job, how was he selected for it, and what did it entail?

Ponds was a space pilot for the department of space exploration. he had completed six space runs to the Moon, Mars, Venus, and Jupiter. He hated every minute of it. Initially, he was drafted into the workforce reserves. He was soon. selected for the job based on his physical attributes and mental qualifications. He had to go through rigorous training once he was selected. This training took several years. After this he was put into the field. He was crammed in a small little space cafard for what seemed like endless amounts of time.

What are Pond's views on wealth and fame? [SEP] <s> SPACEMAN ON A SPREE BY MACK REYNOLDS Illustrated by Nodel [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What's more important—Man's conquest of space, or one spaceman's life? I They gave him a gold watch. It was meant to be symbolical, of course.In the old tradition. It was in the way of an antique, being one of thetimepieces made generations past in the Alpine area of Eur-Asia. Itsquaintness lay in the fact that it was wound, not electronically bypower-radio, but by the actual physical movements of the bearer, a freeswinging rotor keeping the mainspring at a constant tension. They also had a banquet for him, complete with speeches by suchbigwigs of the Department of Space Exploration as Academician LoftingGubelin and Doctor Hans Girard-Perregaux. There was also somebodyfrom the government who spoke, but he was one of those who werepseudo-elected and didn't know much about the field of space travelnor the significance of Seymour Pond's retirement. Si didn't bother toremember his name. He only wondered vaguely why the cloddy had turnedup at all. In common with recipients of gold watches of a score of generationsbefore him, Si Pond would have preferred something a bit more tangiblein the way of reward, such as a few shares of Variable Basic to add tohis portfolio. But that, he supposed, was asking too much. The fact of the matter was, Si knew that his retiring had set themback. They hadn't figured he had enough shares of Basic to see himthrough decently. Well, possibly he didn't, given their standards.But Space Pilot Seymour Pond didn't have their standards. He'd hadplenty of time to think it over. It was better to retire on a limitedcrediting, on a confoundedly limited crediting, than to take the two orthree more trips in hopes of attaining a higher standard. He'd had plenty of time to figure it out, there alone in space on theMoon run, there on the Venus or Mars runs. There on the long, longhaul to the Jupiter satellites, fearfully checking the symptoms ofspace cafard, the madness compounded of claustrophobia, monotony,boredom and free fall. Plenty of time. Time to decide that a oneroom mini-auto-apartment, complete with an autochair and built-inautobar, and with one wall a teevee screen, was all he needed tofind contentment for a mighty long time. Possibly somebody likeDoc Girard-Perregaux might be horrified at the idea of living in amini-auto-apartment ... not realizing that to a pilot it was roomybeyond belief compared to the conning tower of a space craft. No. Even as Si listened to their speeches, accepted the watch andmade a halting little talk of his own, he was grinning inwardly. Therewasn't anything they could do. He had them now. He had enough Basic tokeep him comfortably, by his standards, for the rest of his life. Hewas never going to subject himself to space cafard again. Just thinkingabout it, now, set the tic to going at the side of his mouth. They could count down and blast off, for all he gave a damn. <doc-sep>The gold watch idea had been that of Lofting Gubelin, which wastypical, he being in the way of a living anachronism himself. In fact,Academician Gubelin was possibly the only living man on North Americawho still wore spectacles. His explanation was that a phobia againsthaving his eyes touched prohibited either surgery to remould hiseyeballs and cure his myopia, or contact lenses. That was only an alibi so far as his closest associate, HansGirard-Perregaux, was concerned. Doctor Girard-Perregaux was convincedGubelin would have even worn facial hair, had he but a touch morecourage. Gubelin longed for yesteryear, a seldom found phenomenon underthe Ultrawelfare State. Slumped in an autochair in the escape room of his Floridian home,Lofting Gubelin scowled at his friend. He said, acidly, Any morebright schemes, Hans? I presume you now acknowledge that appealing tothe cloddy's patriotism, sentiment and desire for public acclaim havemiserably failed. Girard-Perregaux said easily, I wouldn't call Seymour Pond a cloddy.In his position, I am afraid I would do the same thing he has. That's nonsense, Hans. Zoroaster! Either you or I would gladly takePond's place were we capable of performing the duties for which he hasbeen trained. There aren't two men on North America—there aren't twomen in the world!—who better realize the urgency of continuing ourdelving into space. Gubelin snapped his fingers. Like that, either ofus would give our lives to prevent man from completely abandoning theroad to his destiny. His friend said drily, Either of us could have volunteered for pilottraining forty years ago, Lofting. We didn't. At that time there wasn't such a blistering percentage of funkersthroughout this whole blistering Ultrawelfare State! Who couldforesee that eventually our whole program would face ending due tolack of courageous young men willing to take chances, willing to faceadventure, willing to react to the stimulus of danger in the manner ourancestors did? Girard-Perregaux grunted his sarcasm and dialed a glass of iced teaand tequila. He said, Nevertheless, both you and I conform with thepresent generation in finding it far more pleasant to follow one'sway of life in the comfort of one's home than to be confronted withthe unpleasantness of facing nature's dangers in more adventurouspastimes. Gubelin, half angry at his friend's argument, leaned forward to snaprebuttal, but the other was wagging a finger at him negatively. Facereality, Lofting. Don't require or expect from Seymour Pond morethan is to be found there. He is an average young man. Born in ourUltrawelfare State, he was guaranteed his fundamental womb-to-tombsecurity by being issued that minimum number of Basic shares in oursociety that allows him an income sufficient to secure the food,clothing, shelter, medical care and education to sustain a low levelof subsistence. Percentages were against his ever being draftedinto industry. Automation being what it is, only a fraction of thepopulation is ever called up. But Pond was. His industrial aptitudedossier revealed him a possible candidate for space pilot, and it wasyou yourself who talked him into taking the training ... pointing outthe more pragmatic advantages such as complete retirement after but sixtrips, added shares of Basic so that he could enjoy a more comfortablelife than most and the fame that would accrue to him as one of thevery few who still participate in travel to the planets. Very well.He was sold. Took his training, which, of course, required long yearsof drudgery to him. Then, performing his duties quite competently, hemade his six trips. He is now legally eligible for retirement. He wasdrafted into the working force reserves, served his time, and is nowfree from toil for the balance of his life. Why should he listen toour pleas for a few more trips? But has he no spirit of adventure? Has he no feeling for.... <doc-sep>Girard-Perregaux was wagging his finger again, a gesture that,seemingly mild though it was, had an astonishing ability to break offthe conversation of one who debated with the easy-seeming, quiet spokenman. He said, No, he hasn't. Few there are who have, nowadays. Man hasalways paid lip service to adventure, hardships and excitement, but inactuality his instincts, like those of any other animal, lead him tothe least dangerous path. Today we've reached the point where no oneneed face danger—ever. There are few who don't take advantage of thefact. Including you and me, Lofting, and including Seymour Pond. His friend and colleague changed subjects abruptly, impatiently. Let'sleave this blistering jabber about Pond's motivation and get to thepoint. The man is the only trained space pilot in the world. It willtake months, possibly more than a year, to bring another novitiatepilot to the point where he can safely be trusted to take our nextexplorer craft out. Appropriations for our expeditions have beenincreasingly hard to come by—even though in our minds, Hans, we arenear important breakthroughs, breakthroughs which might possibly sospark the race that a new dream to push man out to the stars will takehold of us. If it is admitted that our organization has degeneratedto the point that we haven't a single pilot, then it might well bethat the Economic Planning Board, and especially those cloddieson Appropriations, will terminate the whole Department of SpaceExploration. So.... Girard-Perregaux said gently. So some way we've got to bring Seymour Pond out of his retirement! Now we are getting to matters. Girard-Perregaux nodded his agreement.Looking over the rim of his glass, his eyes narrowed in thought as hisface took on an expression of Machiavellianism. And do not the endsjustify the means? Gubelin blinked at him. The other chuckled. The trouble with you, Lofting, is that you havefailed to bring history to bear on our problem. Haven't you ever readof the sailor and his way of life? Sailor? What in the name of the living Zoroaster has the sailor got todo with it? You must realize, my dear Lofting, that our Si Pond is nothing morethan a latter-day sailor, with many of the problems and view-points,tendencies and weaknesses of the voyager of the past. Have you neverheard of the seaman who dreamed of returning to the village of hisbirth and buying a chicken farm or some such? All the long months atsea—and sometimes the tramp freighters or whaling craft would be outfor years at a stretch before returning to home port—he would talkof his retirement and his dream. And then? Then in port, it would beone short drink with the boys, before taking his accumulated pay andheading home. The one short drink would lead to another. And morningwould find him, drunk, rolled, tattooed and possibly sleeping it off injail. So back to sea he'd have to go. Gubelin grunted bitterly. Unfortunately, our present-day sailorcan't be separated from his money quite so easily. If he could, I'dpersonally be willing to lure him down some dark alley, knock him overthe head and roll him myself. Just to bring him back to his job again. He brought his wallet from his pocket, and flicked it open to hisuniversal credit card. The ultimate means of exchange, he grunted.Nobody can spend your money, but you, yourself. Nobody can steal it,nobody can, ah, con you out of it. Just how do you expect to severour present-day sailor and his accumulated nest egg? The other chuckled again. It is simply a matter of finding more modernmethods, my dear chap. <doc-sep>II Si Pond was a great believer in the institution of the spree. Anyexcuse would do. Back when he had finished basic education at the ageof twenty-five and was registered for the labor draft, there hadn'tbeen a chance in a hundred that he'd have the bad luck to have hisname pulled. But when it had been, Si had celebrated. When he had been informed that his physical and mental qualificationswere such that he was eligible for the most dangerous occupation inthe Ultrawelfare State and had been pressured into taking trainingfor space pilot, he had celebrated once again. Twenty-two others hadtaken the training with him, and only he and Rod Cameroon had passedthe finals. On this occasion, he and Rod had celebrated together. Ithad been quite a party. Two weeks later, Rod had burned on a faultytake-off on what should have been a routine Moon run. Each time Si returned from one of his own runs, he celebrated. A spree,a bust, a bat, a wing-ding, a night on the town. A commemoration ofdangers met and passed. Now it was all over. At the age of thirty he was retired. Law preventedhim from ever being called up for contributing to the country's laborneeds again. And he most certainly wasn't going to volunteer. He had taken his schooling much as had his contemporaries. There wasn'tany particular reason for trying to excell. You didn't want to get thereputation for being a wise guy, or a cloddy either. Just one of thefellas. You could do the same in life whether you really studied ornot. You had your Inalienable Basic stock, didn't you? What else didyou need? It had come as a surprise when he'd been drafted for the labor force. In the early days of the Ultrawelfare State, they had made a mistakein adapting to the automation of the second industrial revolution.They had attempted to give everyone work by reducing the number ofworking hours in the day, and the number of working days in the week.It finally became ludicrous when employees of industry were workingbut two days a week, two hours a day. In fact, it got chaotic. Itbecame obvious that it was more practical to have one worker putting inthirty-five hours a week and getting to know his job well, than it wasto have a score of employees, each working a few hours a week and noneof them ever really becoming efficient. The only fair thing was to let the technologically unemployed remainunemployed, with their Inalienable Basic stock as the equivalent ofunemployment insurance, while the few workers still needed put in areasonable number of hours a day, a reasonable number of weeks a yearand a reasonable number of years in a life time. When new employeeswere needed, a draft lottery was held. All persons registered in the labor force participated. If youwere drawn, you must need serve. The dissatisfaction those chosenmight feel at their poor luck was offset by the fact that they weregranted additional Variable Basic shares, according to the tasksthey fulfilled. Such shares could be added to their portfolios, thedividends becoming part of their current credit balance, or could besold for a lump sum on the market. Yes, but now it was all over. He had his own little place, his ownvacuum-tube vehicle and twice the amount of shares of Basic that mostof his fellow citizens could boast. Si Pond had it made. A spree wasobviously called for. He was going to do this one right. This was the big one. He'daccumulated a lot of dollars these past few months and he intendedto blow them, or at least a sizeable number of them. His credit cardwas burning a hole in his pocket, as the expression went. However, hewasn't going to rush into things. This had to be done correctly. Too many a spree was played by ear. You started off with a few drinks,fell in with some second rate mopsy and usually wound up in a thirdrate groggery where you spent just as much as though you'd been in theclassiest joint in town. Came morning and you had nothing to show forall the dollars that had been spent but a rum-head. Thus, Si was vaguely aware, it had always been down through thecenturies since the Phoenecian sailor, back from his year-long trip tothe tin mines of Cornwall, blew his hard earned share of the voyage'sprofits in a matter of days in the wine shops of Tyre. Nobody getsquite so little for his money as that loneliest of all workers, he whomust leave his home for distant lands, returning only periodically andusually with the salary of lengthy, weary periods of time to be spenthurriedly in an attempt to achieve the pleasure and happiness so longdenied him. Si was going to do it differently this time. Nothing but the best. Wine, women, song, food, entertainment. Theworks. But nothing but the best. <doc-sep>To start off, he dressed with great care in the honorableretirement-rank suit he had so recently purchased. His space pin heattached carefully to the lapel. That was a good beginning, he decided.A bit of prestige didn't hurt you when you went out on the town. Inthe Ultrawelfare State hardly one person in a hundred actually everperformed anything of value to society. The efforts of most weren'tneeded. Those few who did contribute were awarded honors, decorations,titles. Attired satisfactorily, Si double-checked to see that his creditcard was in his pocket. As an after-thought, he went over to theauto-apartment's teevee-phone, flicked it on, held the card to thescreen and said, Balance check, please. In a moment, the teevee-phone's robot voice reported, Ten shares ofInalienable Basic. Twelve shares of Variable Basic, current value, fourthousand, two hundred and thirty-three dollars and sixty-two centsapiece. Current cash credit, one thousand and eighty-four dollars. Thescreen went dead. One thousand and eighty-four dollars. That was plenty. He could safelyspend as much as half of it, if the spree got as lively as he hoped itwould. His monthly dividends were due in another week or so, and hewouldn't have to worry about current expenses. Yes, indeedy, Si Pondwas as solvent as he had ever been in his thirty years. He opened the small, closet-like door which housed his vacuum-tubetwo-seater, and wedged himself into the small vehicle. He brought downthe canopy, dropped the pressurizer and considered the dial. Only oneplace really made sense. The big city. He considered for a moment, decided against the boroughs of Baltimoreand Boston, and selected Manhattan instead. He had the resources. Hemight as well do it up brown. He dialed Manhattan and felt the sinking sensation that presaged hiscar's dropping to tube level. While it was being taken up by the robotcontrols, being shuttled here and there preparatory to the shot to hisdestination, he dialed the vehicle's teevee-phone for information onthe hotels of the island of the Hudson. He selected a swank hostelryhe'd read about and seen on the teevee casts of society and celebritygossip reporters, and dialed it on the car's destination dial. Nothing too good for ex-Space Pilot Si Pond, he said aloud. The car hesitated for a moment, that brief hesitation before theshot, and Si took the involuntary breath from which only heroes couldrefrain. He sank back slowly into the seat. Moments passed, and thedirection of the pressure was reversed. Manhattan. The shuttling began again, and one or two more traversingsub-shots. Finally, the dash threw a green light and Si opened thecanopy and stepped into his hotel room. A voice said gently, If the quarters are satisfactory, please presentyour credit card within ten minutes. Si took his time. Not that he really needed it. It was by far the mostswank suite he had ever seen. One wall was a window of whatever sizethe guest might desire and Si touched the control that dilated it tothe full. His view opened in such wise that he could see both theEmpire State Building Museum and the Hudson. Beyond the river stretchedthe all but endless city which was Greater Metropolis. He didn't take the time to flick on the menu, next to the auto-diningtable, nor to check the endless potables on the autobar list. All that,he well knew, would be superlative. Besides, he didn't plan to dineor do much drinking in his suite. He made a mock leer. Not unless hemanaged to acquire some feminine companionship, that was. He looked briefly into the swimming pool and bath, then floppedhimself happily onto the bed. It wasn't up to the degree of softnesshe presently desired, and he dialed the thing to the ultimate in thatdirection so that with a laugh he sank almost out of sight into themattress. He came back to his feet, gave his suit a quick patting so that itfell into press and, taking his credit card from his pocket, put itagainst the teevee-phone screen and pressed the hotel button so thatregistration could be completed. For a moment he stood in the center of the floor, in thought. Take iteasy, Si Pond, take it all easy, this time. No throwing his dollarsaround in second-class groggeries, no eating in automated luncheterias.This time, be it the only time in his life, he was going to frolic inthe grand manner. No cloddy was Si Pond. He decided a drink was in order to help him plan his strategy. A drinkat the hotel's famous Kudos Room where celebrities were reputed to be adime a dozen. He left the suite and stepped into one of the elevators. He said,Kudos Room. The auto-elevator murmured politely, Yes, sir, the Kudos Room. <doc-sep>At the door to the famous rendezvous of the swankiest set, Si paused amoment and looked about. He'd never been in a place like this, either.However, he stifled his first instinct to wonder about what this wasgoing to do to his current credit balance with an inner grin and madehis way to the bar. There was actually a bartender. Si Pond suppressed his astonishment and said, offhand, attempting anair of easy sophistication, Slivovitz Sour. Yes, sir. The drinks in the Kudos Room might be concocted by hand, but Si noticedthey had the routine teevee screens built into the bar for payment.He put his credit card on the screen immediately before him when thedrink came, and had to quell his desire to dial for a balance check, soas to be able to figure out what the Sour had cost him. Well, this was something like it. This was the sort of thing he'ddreamed about, out there in the great alone, seated in the confiningconning tower of his space craft. He sipped at the drink, finding it upto his highest expectations, and then swiveled slightly on his stool totake a look at the others present. To his disappointment, there were no recognizable celebrities. Nonethat he placed, at least—top teevee stars, top politicians of theUltrawelfare State or Sports personalities. He turned back to his drink and noticed, for the first time, the girlwho occupied the stool two down from him. Si Pond blinked. He blinkedand then swallowed. Zo-ro-as-ter , he breathed. She was done in the latest style from Shanghai, even to the point ofhaving cosmetically duplicated the Mongolian fold at the corners of hereyes. Every pore, but every pore, was in place. She sat with the easygrace of the Orient, so seldom found in the West. His stare couldn't be ignored. She looked at him coldly, turned to the bartender and murmured, A FarOut Cooler, please, Fredric. Then deliberately added, I thought theKudos Room was supposed to be exclusive. There was nothing the bartender could say to that, and he went aboutbuilding the drink. Si cleared his throat. Hey, he said, how about letting this one beon me? Her eyebrows, which had been plucked and penciled to carry out herOriental motif, rose. Really! she said, drawing it out. The bartender said hurriedly, I beg your pardon, sir.... The girl, her voice suddenly subtly changed, said, Why, isn't that aspace pin? Si, disconcerted by the sudden reversal, said, Yeah ... sure. Good Heavens, you're a spaceman? Sure. He pointed at the lapel pin. You can't wear one unless youbeen on at least a Moon run. She was obviously both taken back and impressed. Why, she said,you're Seymour Pond, the pilot. I tuned in on the banquet they gaveyou. Si, carrying his glass, moved over to the stool next to her. Call meSi, he said. Everybody calls me Si. She said, I'm Natalie. Natalie Paskov. Just Natalie. Imagine meetingSeymour Pond. Just sitting down next to him at a bar. Just like that. Si, Si said, gratified. Holy Zoroaster, he'd never seen anythinglike this rarified pulchritude. Maybe on teevee, of course, one of thecurrent sex symbols, but never in person. Call me Si, he said again.I been called Si so long, I don't even know who somebody's talking toif they say Seymour. I cried when they gave you that antique watch, she said, her tonesuch that it was obvious she hadn't quite adjusted as yet to havingmet him. Si Pond was surprised. Cried? he said. Well, why? I was kind ofbored with the whole thing. But old Doc Gubelin, I used to work underhim in the Space Exploration department, he was hot for it. Academician Gubelin? she said. You just call him Doc ? Si was expansive. Why, sure. In the Space Department we don't havemuch time for formality. Everybody's just Si, and Doc, and Jim. Likethat. But how come you cried? <doc-sep>She looked down into the drink the bartender had placed before her,as though avoiding his face. I ... I suppose it was that speechDoctor Girard-Perregaux made. There you stood, so fine and straight inyour space-pilot uniform, the veteran of six exploration runs to theplanets.... Well, Si said modestly, two of my runs were only to the Moon. ... and he said all those things about man's conquest of space. Andthe dream of the stars which man has held so long. And then the factthat you were the last of the space pilots. The last man in the wholeworld trained to pilot a space craft. And here you were, retiring. Si grunted. Yeah. That's all part of the Doc's scheme to get me totake on another three runs. They're afraid the whole department'll bedropped by the Appropriations Committee on this here Economic PlanningBoard. Even if they can find some other patsy to train for the job,it'd take maybe a year before you could even send him on a Moon hop.So old man Gubelin, and Girard-Perregaux too, they're both trying topressure me into more trips. Otherwise they got a Space ExplorationDepartment, with all the expense and all, but nobody to pilot theirships. It's kind of funny, in a way. You know what one of thosespaceships costs? Funny? she said. Why, I don't think it's funny at all. Si said, Look, how about another drink? Natalie Paskov said, Oh, I'd love to have a drink with you, Mr.... Si, Si said. He motioned to the bartender with a circular twist ofthe hand indicating their need for two more of the same. How come youknow so much about it? You don't meet many people who are interestedin space any more. In fact, most people are almost contemptuous, like.Think it's kind of a big boondoggle deal to help use up a lot ofmaterials and all and keep the economy going. Natalie said earnestly, Why, I've been a space fan all my life. I'veread all about it. Have always known the names of all the space pilotsand everything about them, ever since I was a child. I suppose you'dsay I have the dream that Doctor Girard-Perregaux spoke about. Si chuckled. A real buff, eh? You know, it's kind of funny. I wasnever much interested in it. And I got a darn sight less interestedafter my first run and I found out what space cafard was. She frowned. I don't believe I know much about that. Sitting in the Kudos Room with the most beautiful girl to whom he hadever talked, Si could be nonchalant about the subject. Old Gubelinkeeps that angle mostly hushed up and out of the magazine and newspaperarticles. Says there's enough adverse publicity about space explorationalready. But at this stage of the game when the whole ship's crammedtight with this automatic scientific apparatus and all, there'sprecious little room in the conning tower and you're the only manaboard. The Doc says later on when ships are bigger and there's a wholeflock of people aboard, there won't be any such thing as space cafard,but.... Of a sudden the right side of Si Pond's mouth began to ticand he hurriedly took up his drink and knocked it back. <doc-sep></s> [SEP] What are Pond's views on wealth and fame?

Pond seems to be obsessed with money. At his retirement, he is given a gold watch. He thinks to himself how much better it would have been if they had simply given him money instead. He vows to live a simple, comfortable life, keeping an eye on his money so it will last him for the rest of his days. He is very proud of the fact that he can afford a luxury like his vacuum tube. Whenever something goes well in Pond's life, he loves to splurge on a night out. He ends up spending enormous amounts of money on things that he sometimes deems as "sub-par" for a man of his status. On this one fateful night, he decides that he deserves the best of everything. He is obsessed with the idea of wealth and fame, and checks himself into the nicest hotel he can think of in New York City, partially because he presumes he might see some celebrities there. He checks the balance on his credit card often, and when he goes down to the hotel bar, he has to restrain himself from checking how much a single drink costs. He looks around for signs of famous people, but is disappointed when he sees none. He gives into the flattery of Natalie when she gushes over him, as if he were famous, believing her obvious depciet, and buying her a drink. Fame and money are everything to Pond.

What is the plot of the story? [SEP] <s> My Lady Greensleeves By FREDERIK POHL Illustrated by GAUGHAN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This guard smelled trouble and it could be counted on to come—for a nose for trouble was one of the many talents bred here! I His name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in hisnostrils. It was the smell of trouble. He hadn't found what the troublewas yet, but he would. That was his business. He was a captain ofguards in Estates-General Correctional Institution—better known toits inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scentof trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived toreach his captaincy. And her name, he saw, was Sue-Ann Bradley, Detainee No. WFA-656R. He frowned at the rap sheet, trying to figure out what got a girl likeher into a place like this. And, what was more important, why shecouldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. He demanded: Why wouldn't you mop out your cell? The girl lifted her head angrily and took a step forward. The blockguard, Sodaro, growled warningly: Watch it, auntie! O'Leary shook his head. Let her talk, Sodaro. It said in the CivilService Guide to Prison Administration : Detainees will be permittedto speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings. And O'Learywas a man who lived by the book. She burst out: I never got a chance! That old witch Mathias never toldme I was supposed to mop up. She banged on the door and said, 'Slushup, sister!' And then, ten minutes later, she called the guards andtold them I refused to mop. The block guard guffawed. Wipe talk—that's what she was telling youto do. Cap'n, you know what's funny about this? This Bradley is— Shut up, Sodaro. <doc-sep>Captain O'leary put down his pencil and looked at the girl. She wasattractive and young—not beyond hope, surely. Maybe she had got offto a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in thedisciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear andlooked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting forhim to judge their cases. He said patiently: Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out yourcell. If you didn't understand what Mathias was talking about, youshould have asked her. Now I'm warning you, the next time— Hey, Cap'n, wait! Sodaro was looking alarmed. This isn't a firstoffense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing inthe mess hall. He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. Theblock guard had to break up a fight between her and another wench,and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when theother one asked her to move along. He added virtuously: The guardwarned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure. Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: Idon't care. I don't care! O'Leary stopped her. That's enough! Three days in Block O! It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. Hehad managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omittedto say sir every time she spoke to him, but he couldn't keep it upforever and he certainly couldn't overlook hysteria. And hysteria wasclearly the next step for her. All the same, he stared after her as she left. He handed the rap sheetto Sodaro and said absently: Too bad a kid like her has to be here.What's she in for? You didn't know, Cap'n? Sodaro leered. She's in for conspiracy toviolate the Categoried Class laws. Don't waste your time with her,Cap'n. She's a figger-lover! Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain markedCivil Service. But it didn't wash the taste out of his mouth, thesmell from his nose. What got into a girl to get her mixed up with that kind of dirtybusiness? He checked out of the cell blocks and walked across theyard, wondering about her. She'd had every advantage—decent CivilService parents, a good education, everything a girl could wish for. Ifanything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, andlook what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is noexception, but with the difference that his is the one species thatcreates its own environment in which to specialize. From the momentthat clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weaponsmade by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by theceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame. Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. Fromthe born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolvedto the point of smaller contact and less communication between thespecializations, until now they could understand each other on only themost basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degreeof civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregationof each specialization—social and genetic measures to make thembreed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man,or at any rate he does not advance civilization. And letting thespecializations mix would produce genetic undesirables: clerk-laboreror Professional-GI misfits, for example, being only half specialized,would be good at no specialization. And the basis of this specialization society was: The aptitude groupsare the true races of mankind. Putting it into law was only the legalenforcement of a demonstrable fact. Evening, Cap'n. A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight andtouched his cap as O'Leary passed by. Evening. <doc-sep>O'Leary noted, with the part of his mind that always noted thosethings, that the orderly had been leaning on his broom until he'dnoticed the captain coming by. Of course, there wasn't much tosweep—the spray machines and sweeperdozers had been over thecobblestones of the yard twice already that day. But it was an inmate'sjob to keep busy. And it was a guard captain's job to notice when theydidn't. There wasn't anything wrong with that job, he told himself. It was aperfectly good civil-service position—better than post-office clerk,not as good as Congressman, but a job you could be proud to hold. He was proud of it. It was right that he should be proud of it. He wascivil-service born and bred, and naturally he was proud and content todo a good, clean civil-service job. If he had happened to be born a fig—a clerk , he correctedhimself—if he had happened to be born a clerk, why, he would have beenproud of that, too. There wasn't anything wrong with being a clerk—ora mechanic or a soldier, or even a laborer, for that matter. Good laborers were the salt of the Earth! They weren't smart, maybe,but they had a—well, a sort of natural, relaxed joy of living. O'Learywas a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with atouch of envy how comfortable it must be to be a wipe—a laborer .No responsibilities. No worries. Just an easy, slow routine of work andloaf, work and loaf. Of course, he wouldn't really want that kind of life, because he wasCivil Service and not the kind to try to cross over class barriers thatweren't meant to be— Evening, Cap'n. He nodded to the mechanic inmate who was, theoretically, in charge ofmaintaining the prison's car pool, just inside the gate. Evening, Conan, he said. Conan, now—he was a big buck greaser and he would be there for thenext hour, languidly poking a piece of fluff out of the air filter onthe prison jeep. Lazy, sure. Undependable, certainly. But he kept thecars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was upin another year or so, he would go back to his life with his statusrestored, a mechanic on the outside as he had been inside, and hecertainly would never risk coming back to the Jug by trying to pass asCivil Service or anything else. He knew his place. So why didn't this girl, this Sue-Ann Bradley, know hers? II Every prison has its Greensleeves—sometimes they are called bydifferent names. Old Marquette called it the canary; Louisiana Statecalled it the red hats; elsewhere it was called the hole, thesnake pit, the Klondike. When you're in it, you don't much care whatit is called; it is a place for punishment. And punishment is what you get. Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was thedisciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets itsinhabitants wore, it was called the Greensleeves. It was a community ofits own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. Andlike any other community, it had its leading citizens ... two of them.Their names were Sauer and Flock. Sue-Ann Bradley heard them before she reached the Greensleeves. Shewas in a detachment of three unfortunates like herself, convoyed by anirritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floorbelow, when she heard the yelling. Owoo-o-o, screamed Sauer from one end of the cell block andYow-w-w! shrieked Flock at the other. The inside deck guard of Block O looked nervously at the outside deckguard. The outside guard looked impassively back—after all, he was onthe outside. The inside guard muttered: Wipe rats! They're getting on my nerves. The outside guard shrugged. Detail, halt ! The two guards turned to see what was coming in asthe three new candidates for the Greensleeves slumped to a stop at thehead of the stairs. Here they are, Sodaro told them. Take good careof 'em, will you? Especially the lady—she's going to like it here,because there's plenty of wipes and greasers and figgers to keep hercompany. He laughed coarsely and abandoned his charges to the Block Oguards. The outside guard said sourly: A woman, for God's sake. Now O'Learyknows I hate it when there's a woman in here. It gets the others allriled up. Let them in, the inside guard told him. The others are riled upalready. Sue-Ann Bradley looked carefully at the floor and paid them noattention. The outside guard pulled the switch that turned on thetanglefoot electronic fields that swamped the floor of the blockcorridor and of each individual cell. While the fields were on, youcould ignore the prisoners—they simply could not move fast enough,against the electronic drag of the field, to do any harm. But it was arule that, even in Block O, you didn't leave the tangler fields on allthe time—only when the cell doors had to be opened or a prisoner'srestraining garment removed. Sue-Ann walked bravely forward through the opened gate—and fell flaton her face. It was her first experience of a tanglefoot field. It waslike walking through molasses. The guard guffawed and lifted her up by one shoulder. Take it easy,auntie. Come on, get in your cell. He steered her in the rightdirection and pointed to a greensleeved straitjacket on the cell cot.Put that on. Being as you're a lady, we won't tie it up, but the rulessay you got to wear it and the rules—Hey. She's crying! He shook hishead, marveling. It was the first time he had ever seen a prisoner cryin the Greensleeves. However, he was wrong. Sue-Ann's shoulders were shaking, but not fromtears. Sue-Ann Bradley had got a good look at Sauer and at Flock as shepassed them by and she was fighting off an almost uncontrollable urgeto retch. <doc-sep>Sauer and Flock were what are called prison wolves. They werelaborers—wipes, for short—or, at any rate, they had been once.They had spent so much time in prisons that it was sometimes hard evenfor them to remember what they really were, outside. Sauer was a big,grinning redhead with eyes like a water moccasin. Flock was a lithefive-footer with the build of a water moccasin—and the sad, stupideyes of a calf. Sauer stopped yelling for a moment. Hey, Flock! What do you want, Sauer? called Flock from his own cell. We got a lady with us! Maybe we ought to cut out this yelling soas not to disturb the lady! He screeched with howling, maniacallaughter. Anyway, if we don't cut this out, they'll get us in trouble,Flock! Oh, you think so? shrieked Flock. Jeez, I wish you hadn't said that,Sauer. You got me scared! I'm so scared, I'm gonna have to yell! The howling started all over again. The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned offthe tangler field once more. He licked his lips. Say, you want to takea turn in here for a while? Uh-uh. The outside guard shook his head. You're yellow, the inside guard said moodily. Ah, I don't know why Idon't quit this lousy job. Hey, you! Pipe down or I'll come in and beatyour head off! Ee-ee-ee! screamed Sauer in a shrill falsetto. I'm scared! Then hegrinned at the guard, all but his water-moccasin eyes. Don't you knowyou can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head, Boss? Shut up ! yelled the inside guard. Sue-Ann Bradley's weeping now was genuine. She simply could not helpit. The crazy yowling of the hard-timers, Sauer and Flock, was gettingunder her skin. They weren't even—even human , she told herselfmiserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards thesatisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedlythat resentment and anger were natural and right. They were perfectlynormal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion againstthe vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was good thatSauer and Flock still had enough spirit to struggle against the vicioussystem— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself toweeping and she didn't even care who heard her any more. Senseless! It never occurred to Sue-Ann Bradley that it might not be senseless,because noise hides noise. But then she hadn't been a prisoner verylong. III I smell trouble, said O'Leary to the warden. Trouble? Trouble? Warden Schluckebier clutched his throat and hislittle round eyes looked terrified—as perhaps they should have. WardenGodfrey Schluckebier was the almighty Caesar of ten thousand inmates inthe Jug, but privately he was a fussy old man trying to hold onto thelast decent job he would have in his life. Trouble? What trouble? O'Leary shrugged. Different things. You know Lafon, from Block A? Thisafternoon, he was playing ball with the laundry orderlies in the yard. The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: O'Leary, whatdid you want to worry me for? There's nothing wrong with playing ballin the yard. That's what recreation periods are for. You don't see what I mean, Warden. Lafon was a professional on theoutside—an architect. Those laundry cons were laborers. Pros and wipesdon't mix; it isn't natural. And there are other things. O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden thatit didn't smell right? For instance—Well, there's Aunt Mathias in the women's block. She'sa pretty good old girl—that's why she's the block orderly. She's alifer, she's got no place to go, she gets along with the other women.But today she put a woman named Bradley on report. Why? Because shetold Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. NowMathias wouldn't— The warden raised his hand. Please, O'Leary, don't bother me aboutthat kind of stuff. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He pouredhimself a cup of steaming black coffee from a brewpot, reached in adesk drawer for something, hesitated, glanced at O'Leary, then droppeda pale blue tablet into the cup. He drank it down eagerly, ignoring thescalding heat. He leaned back, looking suddenly happier and much more assured. O'Leary, you're a guard captain, right? And I'm your warden. You haveyour job, keeping the inmates in line, and I have mine. Now your job isjust as important as my job, he said piously. Everybody's job isjust as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick toour own jobs. We don't want to try to pass . O'Leary snapped erect, abruptly angry. Pass! What the devil way wasthat for the warden to talk to him? Excuse the expression, O'Leary, the warden said anxiously. I mean,after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right? He wasa great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. You know youdon't want to worry about my end of running the prison. And I don'twant to worry about yours . You see? And he folded his hands andsmiled like a civil-service Buddha. <doc-sep>O'Leary choked back his temper. Warden, I'm telling you that there'strouble coming up. I smell the signs. Handle it, then! snapped the warden, irritated at last. But suppose it's too big to handle. Suppose— It isn't, the warden said positively. Don't borrow trouble withall your supposing, O'Leary. He sipped the remains of his coffee,made a wry face, poured a fresh cup and, with an elaborate show of notnoticing what he was doing, dropped three of the pale blue tablets intoit this time. He sat beaming into space, waiting for the jolt to take effect. Well, then, he said at last. You just remember what I've told youtonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—'Oh, curse the thing. His phone was ringing. The warden picked it up irritably. That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary;they gave you a lift, but they put you on edge. Hello, barked the warden, not even glancing at the viewscreen. Whatthe devil do you want? Don't you know I'm—What? You did what ?You're going to WHAT? He looked at the viewscreen at last with a look of pure horror.Whatever he saw on it, it did not reassure him. His eyes opened likeclamshells in a steamer. O'Leary, he said faintly, my mistake. And he hung up—more or less by accident; the handset dropped from hisfingers. The person on the other end of the phone was calling from Cell Block O. Five minutes before, he hadn't been anywhere near the phone and itdidn't look as if his chances of ever getting near it were very good.Because five minutes before, he was in his cell, with the rest of thehard-timers of the Greensleeves. His name was Flock. He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him,thought that maybe, after all, the man was really in pain. Maybe thecrazy screams were screams of agony, because certainly his face was theface of an agonized man. The outside guard bellowed: Okay, okay. Take ten! Sue-Ann froze, waiting to see what would happen. What actually didhappen was that the guard reached up and closed the switch thatactuated the tangler fields on the floors of the cells. The prisonrules were humanitarian, even for the dregs that inhabited theGreensleeves. Ten minutes out of every two hours, even the worst casehad to be allowed to take his hands out of the restraining garment. Rest period it was called—in the rule book. The inmates had a lesslovely term for it. <doc-sep>At the guard's yell, the inmates jumped to their feet. Bradley was a little slow getting off the edge of the steel-slatbed—nobody had warned her that the eddy currents in the tangler fieldshad a way of making metal smoke-hot. She gasped but didn't cry out.Score one more painful lesson in her new language course. She rubbedthe backs of her thighs gingerly—and slowly, slowly, for the eddycurrents did not permit you to move fast. It was like pushing againstrubber; the faster you tried to move, the greater the resistance. The guard peered genially into her cell. You're okay, auntie. Sheproudly ignored him as he slogged deliberately away on his rounds.He didn't have to untie her and practically stand over her whileshe attended to various personal matters, as he did with the maleprisoners. It was not much to be grateful for, but Sue-Ann Bradley wasgrateful. At least she didn't have to live quite like a fig—like anunderprivileged clerk, she told herself, conscience-stricken. Across the hall, the guard was saying irritably: What the hell'sthe matter with you? He opened the door of the cell with anasbestos-handled key held in a canvas glove. Flock was in that cell and he was doubled over. The guard looked at him doubtfully. It could be a trick, maybe.Couldn't it? But he could see Flock's face and the agony in it was realenough. And Flock was gasping, through real tears: Cramps. I—I— Ah, you wipes always got a pain in the gut. The guard lumbered aroundFlock to the draw-strings at the back of the jacket. Funny smell inhere, he told himself—not for the first time. And imagine, some peopledidn't believe that wipes had a smell of their own! But this time, herealized cloudily, it was a rather unusual smell. Something burning.Almost like meat scorching. It wasn't pleasant. He finished untying Flock and turned away; let thestinking wipe take care of his own troubles. He only had ten minutes toget all the way around Block O and the inmates complained like crazy ifhe didn't make sure they all got the most possible free time. He waspretty good at snowshoeing through the tangler field. He was a littlevain about it, even; at times he had been known to boast of his abilityto make the rounds in two minutes, every time. Every time but this. For Flock moaned behind him, oddly close. The guard turned, but not quickly enough. There wasFlock—astonishingly, he was half out of his jacket; his arms hadn'tbeen in the sleeves at all! And in one of the hands, incredibly, therewas something that glinted and smoked. All right, croaked Flock, tears trickling out of eyes nearly shutwith pain. But it wasn't the tears that held the guard; it was the shining,smoking thing, now poised at his throat. A shiv! It looked as thoughit had been made out of a bed-spring, ripped loose from its frame Godknows how, hidden inside the greensleeved jacket God knows how—filed,filed to sharpness over endless hours. No wonder Flock moaned—the eddy currents in the shiv were slowlycooking his hand; and the blister against his abdomen, where the shivhad been hidden during other rest periods, felt like raw acid. All right, whispered Flock, just walk out the door and you won't gethurt. Unless the other screw makes trouble, you won't get hurt, so tellhim not to, you hear? He was nearly fainting with the pain. But he hadn't let go. He didn't let go. And he didn't stop. IV It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes stillstreaming tears, Flock with Sauer standing right behind him, menacingthe two bound deck guards. Sauer shoved Flock out of the way. Hey, Warden! he said, and thevoice was a cheerful bray, though the serpent eyes were cold andhating. Warden, you got to get a medic in here. My boy Flock, he hurthimself real bad and he needs a doctor. He gestured playfully at theguards with the shiv. I tell you, Warden. I got this knife and I gotyour guards here. Enough said? So get a medic in here quick, you hear? And he snapped the connection. O'Leary said: Warden, I told you I smelled trouble! The warden lifted his head, glared, started feebly to speak, hesitated,and picked up the long-distance phone. He said sadly to the prisonoperator: Get me the governor—fast. Riot! The word spread out from the prison on seven-league boots. It snatched the city governor out of a friendly game of Senioritywith his manager and their wives—and just when he was holding thePorkbarrel Joker concealed in the hole. It broke up the Base Championship Scramble Finals at Hap Arnold Fieldto the south, as half the contestants had to scramble in earnest to aRed Alert that was real. It reached to police precinct houses and TV newsrooms and highwaycheckpoints, and from there it filtered into the homes and lives of thenineteen million persons that lived within a few dozen miles of the Jug. Riot. And yet fewer than half a dozen men were involved. A handful of men, and the enormous bulk of the city-state quivered inevery limb and class. In its ten million homes, in its hundreds ofthousands of public places, the city-state's people shook under theimpact of the news from the prison. For the news touched them where their fears lay. Riot! And not merelya street brawl among roistering wipes, or a bar-room fight of greasersrelaxing from a hard day at the plant. The riot was down among thecorrupt sludge that underlay the state itself. Wipes brawled with wipesand no one cared; but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. <doc-sep>Forty miles to the south, Hap Arnold Field was a blaze of light. Theairmen tumbled out of their quarters and dayrooms at the screech ofthe alert siren, and behind them their wives and children stretchedand yawned and worried. An alert! The older kids fussed and complainedand their mothers shut them up. No, there wasn't any alert scheduledfor tonight; no, they didn't know where Daddy was going; no, the kidscouldn't get up yet—it was the middle of the night. And as soon as they had the kids back in bed, most of the mothersstruggled into their own airwac uniforms and headed for the briefingarea to hear. They caught the words from a distance—not quite correctly. Riot!gasped an aircraftswoman first-class, mother of three. The wipes! I told Charlie they'd get out of hand and—Alys, we aren't safe. Youknow how they are about GI women! I'm going right home and get a cluband stand right by the door and— Club! snapped Alys, radarscope-sergeant, with two childrenquerulously awake in her nursery at home. What in God's name is theuse of a club? You can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head. You'dbetter come along to Supply with me and draw a gun—you'll need itbefore this night is over. But the airmen themselves heard the briefing loud and clear over thescramble-call speakers, and they knew it was not merely a matter oftrouble in the wipe quarters. The Jug! The governor himself had calledthem out; they were to fly interdicting missions at such-and-suchlevels on such-and-such flight circuits around the prison. The rockets took off on fountains of fire; and the jets took off with awhistling roar; and last of all, the helicopters took off ... and theywere the ones who might actually accomplish something. They took uptheir picket posts on the prison perimeter, a pilot and two bombardiersin each 'copter, stone-faced, staring grimly alert at the prison below. They were ready for the breakout. But there wasn't any breakout. The rockets went home for fuel. The jets went home for fuel. Thehelicopters hung on—still ready, still waiting. The rockets came back and roared harmlessly about, and went away again.They stayed away. The helicopter men never faltered and never relaxed.The prison below them was washed with light—from the guard posts onthe walls, from the cell blocks themselves, from the mobile lights ofthe guard squadrons surrounding the walls. North of the prison, on the long, flat, damp developments of reclaimedland, the matchbox row houses of the clerical neighborhoods showedlights in every window as the figgers stood ready to repel invasionfrom their undesired neighbors to the east, the wipes. In the crowdedtenements of the laborers' quarters, the wipes shouted from window towindow; and there were crowds in the bright streets. The whole bloody thing's going to blow up! a helicopter bombardieryelled bitterly to his pilot, above the flutter and roar of thewhirling blades. Look at the mobs in Greaserville! The first breakoutfrom the Jug's going to start a fight like you never saw and we'll beright in the middle of it! He was partly right. He would be right in the middle of it—for everyman, woman and child in the city-state would be right in the middle ofit. There was no place anywhere that would be spared. No mixing. Thatwas the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm ina family fight—and aren't all mechanics a family, aren't all laborersa clan, aren't all clerks and office workers related by closer tiesthan blood or skin? But the declassed cons of the Jug were the dregs of every class; andonce they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. Thebreakout would mean riot on a bigger scale than any prison had everknown. But he was also partly wrong. Because the breakout wasn't seeming tocome. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the plot of the story?

Liam O’Leary is the captain of the guards at the Estates-General Correctional Institution (also known as the Jug). He starts off seeing a prisoner called Sue-Ann Bradley, who is having problems with a block guard named Sandro. She explains to him that Mathias, another prisoner, did not give her proper instructions and called the guards on her after ten minutes. O’Leary gives Sue-Ann a warning, but Sandro informs him that she has already received a similar warning the day before. He changes his mind and sends her to three days in Block O. O’Leary then begins to think about his job and how it is a good civil-service job. He then thinks about the figs (clerks) and how they are still important members of society even if there should not regularly be a cross between the barriers of the two classes. Sue-Ann, on the other hand, is taken to the Block O disciplinary block. The leading citizens, Flock, and Sauer begin shrieking at her as soon as she arrives. The guards exchange some words regarding the new additions to the block, and Sue-Ann walks through the gate to reach her cell. The two of them begin screaming and howling again. The guards are annoyed, and Sue-Ann starts to weep for real. Meanwhile, O’Leary informs Warden Godfrey Schluckebier of the upcoming trouble he senses, but the warden brushes his concerns as nothing dangerous. The warden reminds O’Leary that they each have their jobs to worry about. Suddenly, the warden gets a phone call, and he realizes that the call is made from Cell Block O by Flock. The events preceding this call cut back to Sue-Ann, who is still in her cell when Flock initially screams in agony. The guard issues a ten-minute rest period, and the tangler fields are turned off. While the inmates are getting up, the guard notices that Flock is still doubled over in pain due to his cramps. He unties the prisoner, but he sees a strange smell that is reminiscent of scorched meat. To his surprise, Flock threatens him with a hidden handmade shiv. Sauer and Flock take the guards hostage, and they threaten the warden to send a medic down for first aid for Flock. The warden then requests to speak to the governor, which triggers a huge effect on various events. Jets, rockets, and helicopters are sent to contain the possible breakout. There is also the possibility of riots starting. Everybody is fearful of what will happen once the inmates break out. However, even with this fearful anticipation from the outside world, the breakout does not seem to happen.

What does the conversation between Liam O’Leary and Warden Godfrey Schluckebier reveal about the society they live in? [SEP] <s> My Lady Greensleeves By FREDERIK POHL Illustrated by GAUGHAN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This guard smelled trouble and it could be counted on to come—for a nose for trouble was one of the many talents bred here! I His name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in hisnostrils. It was the smell of trouble. He hadn't found what the troublewas yet, but he would. That was his business. He was a captain ofguards in Estates-General Correctional Institution—better known toits inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scentof trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived toreach his captaincy. And her name, he saw, was Sue-Ann Bradley, Detainee No. WFA-656R. He frowned at the rap sheet, trying to figure out what got a girl likeher into a place like this. And, what was more important, why shecouldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. He demanded: Why wouldn't you mop out your cell? The girl lifted her head angrily and took a step forward. The blockguard, Sodaro, growled warningly: Watch it, auntie! O'Leary shook his head. Let her talk, Sodaro. It said in the CivilService Guide to Prison Administration : Detainees will be permittedto speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings. And O'Learywas a man who lived by the book. She burst out: I never got a chance! That old witch Mathias never toldme I was supposed to mop up. She banged on the door and said, 'Slushup, sister!' And then, ten minutes later, she called the guards andtold them I refused to mop. The block guard guffawed. Wipe talk—that's what she was telling youto do. Cap'n, you know what's funny about this? This Bradley is— Shut up, Sodaro. <doc-sep>Captain O'leary put down his pencil and looked at the girl. She wasattractive and young—not beyond hope, surely. Maybe she had got offto a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in thedisciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear andlooked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting forhim to judge their cases. He said patiently: Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out yourcell. If you didn't understand what Mathias was talking about, youshould have asked her. Now I'm warning you, the next time— Hey, Cap'n, wait! Sodaro was looking alarmed. This isn't a firstoffense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing inthe mess hall. He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. Theblock guard had to break up a fight between her and another wench,and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when theother one asked her to move along. He added virtuously: The guardwarned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure. Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: Idon't care. I don't care! O'Leary stopped her. That's enough! Three days in Block O! It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. Hehad managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omittedto say sir every time she spoke to him, but he couldn't keep it upforever and he certainly couldn't overlook hysteria. And hysteria wasclearly the next step for her. All the same, he stared after her as she left. He handed the rap sheetto Sodaro and said absently: Too bad a kid like her has to be here.What's she in for? You didn't know, Cap'n? Sodaro leered. She's in for conspiracy toviolate the Categoried Class laws. Don't waste your time with her,Cap'n. She's a figger-lover! Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain markedCivil Service. But it didn't wash the taste out of his mouth, thesmell from his nose. What got into a girl to get her mixed up with that kind of dirtybusiness? He checked out of the cell blocks and walked across theyard, wondering about her. She'd had every advantage—decent CivilService parents, a good education, everything a girl could wish for. Ifanything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, andlook what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is noexception, but with the difference that his is the one species thatcreates its own environment in which to specialize. From the momentthat clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weaponsmade by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by theceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame. Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. Fromthe born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolvedto the point of smaller contact and less communication between thespecializations, until now they could understand each other on only themost basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degreeof civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregationof each specialization—social and genetic measures to make thembreed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man,or at any rate he does not advance civilization. And letting thespecializations mix would produce genetic undesirables: clerk-laboreror Professional-GI misfits, for example, being only half specialized,would be good at no specialization. And the basis of this specialization society was: The aptitude groupsare the true races of mankind. Putting it into law was only the legalenforcement of a demonstrable fact. Evening, Cap'n. A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight andtouched his cap as O'Leary passed by. Evening. <doc-sep>O'Leary noted, with the part of his mind that always noted thosethings, that the orderly had been leaning on his broom until he'dnoticed the captain coming by. Of course, there wasn't much tosweep—the spray machines and sweeperdozers had been over thecobblestones of the yard twice already that day. But it was an inmate'sjob to keep busy. And it was a guard captain's job to notice when theydidn't. There wasn't anything wrong with that job, he told himself. It was aperfectly good civil-service position—better than post-office clerk,not as good as Congressman, but a job you could be proud to hold. He was proud of it. It was right that he should be proud of it. He wascivil-service born and bred, and naturally he was proud and content todo a good, clean civil-service job. If he had happened to be born a fig—a clerk , he correctedhimself—if he had happened to be born a clerk, why, he would have beenproud of that, too. There wasn't anything wrong with being a clerk—ora mechanic or a soldier, or even a laborer, for that matter. Good laborers were the salt of the Earth! They weren't smart, maybe,but they had a—well, a sort of natural, relaxed joy of living. O'Learywas a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with atouch of envy how comfortable it must be to be a wipe—a laborer .No responsibilities. No worries. Just an easy, slow routine of work andloaf, work and loaf. Of course, he wouldn't really want that kind of life, because he wasCivil Service and not the kind to try to cross over class barriers thatweren't meant to be— Evening, Cap'n. He nodded to the mechanic inmate who was, theoretically, in charge ofmaintaining the prison's car pool, just inside the gate. Evening, Conan, he said. Conan, now—he was a big buck greaser and he would be there for thenext hour, languidly poking a piece of fluff out of the air filter onthe prison jeep. Lazy, sure. Undependable, certainly. But he kept thecars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was upin another year or so, he would go back to his life with his statusrestored, a mechanic on the outside as he had been inside, and hecertainly would never risk coming back to the Jug by trying to pass asCivil Service or anything else. He knew his place. So why didn't this girl, this Sue-Ann Bradley, know hers? II Every prison has its Greensleeves—sometimes they are called bydifferent names. Old Marquette called it the canary; Louisiana Statecalled it the red hats; elsewhere it was called the hole, thesnake pit, the Klondike. When you're in it, you don't much care whatit is called; it is a place for punishment. And punishment is what you get. Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was thedisciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets itsinhabitants wore, it was called the Greensleeves. It was a community ofits own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. Andlike any other community, it had its leading citizens ... two of them.Their names were Sauer and Flock. Sue-Ann Bradley heard them before she reached the Greensleeves. Shewas in a detachment of three unfortunates like herself, convoyed by anirritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floorbelow, when she heard the yelling. Owoo-o-o, screamed Sauer from one end of the cell block andYow-w-w! shrieked Flock at the other. The inside deck guard of Block O looked nervously at the outside deckguard. The outside guard looked impassively back—after all, he was onthe outside. The inside guard muttered: Wipe rats! They're getting on my nerves. The outside guard shrugged. Detail, halt ! The two guards turned to see what was coming in asthe three new candidates for the Greensleeves slumped to a stop at thehead of the stairs. Here they are, Sodaro told them. Take good careof 'em, will you? Especially the lady—she's going to like it here,because there's plenty of wipes and greasers and figgers to keep hercompany. He laughed coarsely and abandoned his charges to the Block Oguards. The outside guard said sourly: A woman, for God's sake. Now O'Learyknows I hate it when there's a woman in here. It gets the others allriled up. Let them in, the inside guard told him. The others are riled upalready. Sue-Ann Bradley looked carefully at the floor and paid them noattention. The outside guard pulled the switch that turned on thetanglefoot electronic fields that swamped the floor of the blockcorridor and of each individual cell. While the fields were on, youcould ignore the prisoners—they simply could not move fast enough,against the electronic drag of the field, to do any harm. But it was arule that, even in Block O, you didn't leave the tangler fields on allthe time—only when the cell doors had to be opened or a prisoner'srestraining garment removed. Sue-Ann walked bravely forward through the opened gate—and fell flaton her face. It was her first experience of a tanglefoot field. It waslike walking through molasses. The guard guffawed and lifted her up by one shoulder. Take it easy,auntie. Come on, get in your cell. He steered her in the rightdirection and pointed to a greensleeved straitjacket on the cell cot.Put that on. Being as you're a lady, we won't tie it up, but the rulessay you got to wear it and the rules—Hey. She's crying! He shook hishead, marveling. It was the first time he had ever seen a prisoner cryin the Greensleeves. However, he was wrong. Sue-Ann's shoulders were shaking, but not fromtears. Sue-Ann Bradley had got a good look at Sauer and at Flock as shepassed them by and she was fighting off an almost uncontrollable urgeto retch. <doc-sep>Sauer and Flock were what are called prison wolves. They werelaborers—wipes, for short—or, at any rate, they had been once.They had spent so much time in prisons that it was sometimes hard evenfor them to remember what they really were, outside. Sauer was a big,grinning redhead with eyes like a water moccasin. Flock was a lithefive-footer with the build of a water moccasin—and the sad, stupideyes of a calf. Sauer stopped yelling for a moment. Hey, Flock! What do you want, Sauer? called Flock from his own cell. We got a lady with us! Maybe we ought to cut out this yelling soas not to disturb the lady! He screeched with howling, maniacallaughter. Anyway, if we don't cut this out, they'll get us in trouble,Flock! Oh, you think so? shrieked Flock. Jeez, I wish you hadn't said that,Sauer. You got me scared! I'm so scared, I'm gonna have to yell! The howling started all over again. The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned offthe tangler field once more. He licked his lips. Say, you want to takea turn in here for a while? Uh-uh. The outside guard shook his head. You're yellow, the inside guard said moodily. Ah, I don't know why Idon't quit this lousy job. Hey, you! Pipe down or I'll come in and beatyour head off! Ee-ee-ee! screamed Sauer in a shrill falsetto. I'm scared! Then hegrinned at the guard, all but his water-moccasin eyes. Don't you knowyou can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head, Boss? Shut up ! yelled the inside guard. Sue-Ann Bradley's weeping now was genuine. She simply could not helpit. The crazy yowling of the hard-timers, Sauer and Flock, was gettingunder her skin. They weren't even—even human , she told herselfmiserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards thesatisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedlythat resentment and anger were natural and right. They were perfectlynormal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion againstthe vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was good thatSauer and Flock still had enough spirit to struggle against the vicioussystem— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself toweeping and she didn't even care who heard her any more. Senseless! It never occurred to Sue-Ann Bradley that it might not be senseless,because noise hides noise. But then she hadn't been a prisoner verylong. III I smell trouble, said O'Leary to the warden. Trouble? Trouble? Warden Schluckebier clutched his throat and hislittle round eyes looked terrified—as perhaps they should have. WardenGodfrey Schluckebier was the almighty Caesar of ten thousand inmates inthe Jug, but privately he was a fussy old man trying to hold onto thelast decent job he would have in his life. Trouble? What trouble? O'Leary shrugged. Different things. You know Lafon, from Block A? Thisafternoon, he was playing ball with the laundry orderlies in the yard. The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: O'Leary, whatdid you want to worry me for? There's nothing wrong with playing ballin the yard. That's what recreation periods are for. You don't see what I mean, Warden. Lafon was a professional on theoutside—an architect. Those laundry cons were laborers. Pros and wipesdon't mix; it isn't natural. And there are other things. O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden thatit didn't smell right? For instance—Well, there's Aunt Mathias in the women's block. She'sa pretty good old girl—that's why she's the block orderly. She's alifer, she's got no place to go, she gets along with the other women.But today she put a woman named Bradley on report. Why? Because shetold Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. NowMathias wouldn't— The warden raised his hand. Please, O'Leary, don't bother me aboutthat kind of stuff. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He pouredhimself a cup of steaming black coffee from a brewpot, reached in adesk drawer for something, hesitated, glanced at O'Leary, then droppeda pale blue tablet into the cup. He drank it down eagerly, ignoring thescalding heat. He leaned back, looking suddenly happier and much more assured. O'Leary, you're a guard captain, right? And I'm your warden. You haveyour job, keeping the inmates in line, and I have mine. Now your job isjust as important as my job, he said piously. Everybody's job isjust as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick toour own jobs. We don't want to try to pass . O'Leary snapped erect, abruptly angry. Pass! What the devil way wasthat for the warden to talk to him? Excuse the expression, O'Leary, the warden said anxiously. I mean,after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right? He wasa great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. You know youdon't want to worry about my end of running the prison. And I don'twant to worry about yours . You see? And he folded his hands andsmiled like a civil-service Buddha. <doc-sep>O'Leary choked back his temper. Warden, I'm telling you that there'strouble coming up. I smell the signs. Handle it, then! snapped the warden, irritated at last. But suppose it's too big to handle. Suppose— It isn't, the warden said positively. Don't borrow trouble withall your supposing, O'Leary. He sipped the remains of his coffee,made a wry face, poured a fresh cup and, with an elaborate show of notnoticing what he was doing, dropped three of the pale blue tablets intoit this time. He sat beaming into space, waiting for the jolt to take effect. Well, then, he said at last. You just remember what I've told youtonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—'Oh, curse the thing. His phone was ringing. The warden picked it up irritably. That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary;they gave you a lift, but they put you on edge. Hello, barked the warden, not even glancing at the viewscreen. Whatthe devil do you want? Don't you know I'm—What? You did what ?You're going to WHAT? He looked at the viewscreen at last with a look of pure horror.Whatever he saw on it, it did not reassure him. His eyes opened likeclamshells in a steamer. O'Leary, he said faintly, my mistake. And he hung up—more or less by accident; the handset dropped from hisfingers. The person on the other end of the phone was calling from Cell Block O. Five minutes before, he hadn't been anywhere near the phone and itdidn't look as if his chances of ever getting near it were very good.Because five minutes before, he was in his cell, with the rest of thehard-timers of the Greensleeves. His name was Flock. He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him,thought that maybe, after all, the man was really in pain. Maybe thecrazy screams were screams of agony, because certainly his face was theface of an agonized man. The outside guard bellowed: Okay, okay. Take ten! Sue-Ann froze, waiting to see what would happen. What actually didhappen was that the guard reached up and closed the switch thatactuated the tangler fields on the floors of the cells. The prisonrules were humanitarian, even for the dregs that inhabited theGreensleeves. Ten minutes out of every two hours, even the worst casehad to be allowed to take his hands out of the restraining garment. Rest period it was called—in the rule book. The inmates had a lesslovely term for it. <doc-sep>At the guard's yell, the inmates jumped to their feet. Bradley was a little slow getting off the edge of the steel-slatbed—nobody had warned her that the eddy currents in the tangler fieldshad a way of making metal smoke-hot. She gasped but didn't cry out.Score one more painful lesson in her new language course. She rubbedthe backs of her thighs gingerly—and slowly, slowly, for the eddycurrents did not permit you to move fast. It was like pushing againstrubber; the faster you tried to move, the greater the resistance. The guard peered genially into her cell. You're okay, auntie. Sheproudly ignored him as he slogged deliberately away on his rounds.He didn't have to untie her and practically stand over her whileshe attended to various personal matters, as he did with the maleprisoners. It was not much to be grateful for, but Sue-Ann Bradley wasgrateful. At least she didn't have to live quite like a fig—like anunderprivileged clerk, she told herself, conscience-stricken. Across the hall, the guard was saying irritably: What the hell'sthe matter with you? He opened the door of the cell with anasbestos-handled key held in a canvas glove. Flock was in that cell and he was doubled over. The guard looked at him doubtfully. It could be a trick, maybe.Couldn't it? But he could see Flock's face and the agony in it was realenough. And Flock was gasping, through real tears: Cramps. I—I— Ah, you wipes always got a pain in the gut. The guard lumbered aroundFlock to the draw-strings at the back of the jacket. Funny smell inhere, he told himself—not for the first time. And imagine, some peopledidn't believe that wipes had a smell of their own! But this time, herealized cloudily, it was a rather unusual smell. Something burning.Almost like meat scorching. It wasn't pleasant. He finished untying Flock and turned away; let thestinking wipe take care of his own troubles. He only had ten minutes toget all the way around Block O and the inmates complained like crazy ifhe didn't make sure they all got the most possible free time. He waspretty good at snowshoeing through the tangler field. He was a littlevain about it, even; at times he had been known to boast of his abilityto make the rounds in two minutes, every time. Every time but this. For Flock moaned behind him, oddly close. The guard turned, but not quickly enough. There wasFlock—astonishingly, he was half out of his jacket; his arms hadn'tbeen in the sleeves at all! And in one of the hands, incredibly, therewas something that glinted and smoked. All right, croaked Flock, tears trickling out of eyes nearly shutwith pain. But it wasn't the tears that held the guard; it was the shining,smoking thing, now poised at his throat. A shiv! It looked as thoughit had been made out of a bed-spring, ripped loose from its frame Godknows how, hidden inside the greensleeved jacket God knows how—filed,filed to sharpness over endless hours. No wonder Flock moaned—the eddy currents in the shiv were slowlycooking his hand; and the blister against his abdomen, where the shivhad been hidden during other rest periods, felt like raw acid. All right, whispered Flock, just walk out the door and you won't gethurt. Unless the other screw makes trouble, you won't get hurt, so tellhim not to, you hear? He was nearly fainting with the pain. But he hadn't let go. He didn't let go. And he didn't stop. IV It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes stillstreaming tears, Flock with Sauer standing right behind him, menacingthe two bound deck guards. Sauer shoved Flock out of the way. Hey, Warden! he said, and thevoice was a cheerful bray, though the serpent eyes were cold andhating. Warden, you got to get a medic in here. My boy Flock, he hurthimself real bad and he needs a doctor. He gestured playfully at theguards with the shiv. I tell you, Warden. I got this knife and I gotyour guards here. Enough said? So get a medic in here quick, you hear? And he snapped the connection. O'Leary said: Warden, I told you I smelled trouble! The warden lifted his head, glared, started feebly to speak, hesitated,and picked up the long-distance phone. He said sadly to the prisonoperator: Get me the governor—fast. Riot! The word spread out from the prison on seven-league boots. It snatched the city governor out of a friendly game of Senioritywith his manager and their wives—and just when he was holding thePorkbarrel Joker concealed in the hole. It broke up the Base Championship Scramble Finals at Hap Arnold Fieldto the south, as half the contestants had to scramble in earnest to aRed Alert that was real. It reached to police precinct houses and TV newsrooms and highwaycheckpoints, and from there it filtered into the homes and lives of thenineteen million persons that lived within a few dozen miles of the Jug. Riot. And yet fewer than half a dozen men were involved. A handful of men, and the enormous bulk of the city-state quivered inevery limb and class. In its ten million homes, in its hundreds ofthousands of public places, the city-state's people shook under theimpact of the news from the prison. For the news touched them where their fears lay. Riot! And not merelya street brawl among roistering wipes, or a bar-room fight of greasersrelaxing from a hard day at the plant. The riot was down among thecorrupt sludge that underlay the state itself. Wipes brawled with wipesand no one cared; but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. <doc-sep>Forty miles to the south, Hap Arnold Field was a blaze of light. Theairmen tumbled out of their quarters and dayrooms at the screech ofthe alert siren, and behind them their wives and children stretchedand yawned and worried. An alert! The older kids fussed and complainedand their mothers shut them up. No, there wasn't any alert scheduledfor tonight; no, they didn't know where Daddy was going; no, the kidscouldn't get up yet—it was the middle of the night. And as soon as they had the kids back in bed, most of the mothersstruggled into their own airwac uniforms and headed for the briefingarea to hear. They caught the words from a distance—not quite correctly. Riot!gasped an aircraftswoman first-class, mother of three. The wipes! I told Charlie they'd get out of hand and—Alys, we aren't safe. Youknow how they are about GI women! I'm going right home and get a cluband stand right by the door and— Club! snapped Alys, radarscope-sergeant, with two childrenquerulously awake in her nursery at home. What in God's name is theuse of a club? You can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head. You'dbetter come along to Supply with me and draw a gun—you'll need itbefore this night is over. But the airmen themselves heard the briefing loud and clear over thescramble-call speakers, and they knew it was not merely a matter oftrouble in the wipe quarters. The Jug! The governor himself had calledthem out; they were to fly interdicting missions at such-and-suchlevels on such-and-such flight circuits around the prison. The rockets took off on fountains of fire; and the jets took off with awhistling roar; and last of all, the helicopters took off ... and theywere the ones who might actually accomplish something. They took uptheir picket posts on the prison perimeter, a pilot and two bombardiersin each 'copter, stone-faced, staring grimly alert at the prison below. They were ready for the breakout. But there wasn't any breakout. The rockets went home for fuel. The jets went home for fuel. Thehelicopters hung on—still ready, still waiting. The rockets came back and roared harmlessly about, and went away again.They stayed away. The helicopter men never faltered and never relaxed.The prison below them was washed with light—from the guard posts onthe walls, from the cell blocks themselves, from the mobile lights ofthe guard squadrons surrounding the walls. North of the prison, on the long, flat, damp developments of reclaimedland, the matchbox row houses of the clerical neighborhoods showedlights in every window as the figgers stood ready to repel invasionfrom their undesired neighbors to the east, the wipes. In the crowdedtenements of the laborers' quarters, the wipes shouted from window towindow; and there were crowds in the bright streets. The whole bloody thing's going to blow up! a helicopter bombardieryelled bitterly to his pilot, above the flutter and roar of thewhirling blades. Look at the mobs in Greaserville! The first breakoutfrom the Jug's going to start a fight like you never saw and we'll beright in the middle of it! He was partly right. He would be right in the middle of it—for everyman, woman and child in the city-state would be right in the middle ofit. There was no place anywhere that would be spared. No mixing. Thatwas the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm ina family fight—and aren't all mechanics a family, aren't all laborersa clan, aren't all clerks and office workers related by closer tiesthan blood or skin? But the declassed cons of the Jug were the dregs of every class; andonce they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. Thebreakout would mean riot on a bigger scale than any prison had everknown. But he was also partly wrong. Because the breakout wasn't seeming tocome. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What does the conversation between Liam O’Leary and Warden Godfrey Schluckebier reveal about the society they live in?

The conversation between Liam O'Leary and Warden Godfrey Schluckebier reveals that their society heavily relies on specialization to thrive. It is initially said that the direction of evolution is towards specialization, and this also includes mankind. However, humans can create whatever environment they want to specialize in. The warden tells O'Leary that he should not involve himself in the warden's affairs and that he had his own job to do too. He emphasizes that everybody's jobs are important, but it is even more essential to stick to one's own and not pass on another person's occupation. Although O'Leary is upset at how the warden ignores his warnings, Schluckebier reminds him that 'specialization is the goal for civilization,' which means he does not want to worry about O'Leary's job nor should O'Leary worry about his. This goal also reveals how extreme the belief that a specialized society is one of a higher degree. Letting any specialization mix will only result in half-specialists, who fall in the same category as people who cannot specialize and ultimately serve no purpose to the future of humanity.

Who is Sue-Ann Bradley, and what are her traits? [SEP] <s> My Lady Greensleeves By FREDERIK POHL Illustrated by GAUGHAN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This guard smelled trouble and it could be counted on to come—for a nose for trouble was one of the many talents bred here! I His name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in hisnostrils. It was the smell of trouble. He hadn't found what the troublewas yet, but he would. That was his business. He was a captain ofguards in Estates-General Correctional Institution—better known toits inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scentof trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived toreach his captaincy. And her name, he saw, was Sue-Ann Bradley, Detainee No. WFA-656R. He frowned at the rap sheet, trying to figure out what got a girl likeher into a place like this. And, what was more important, why shecouldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. He demanded: Why wouldn't you mop out your cell? The girl lifted her head angrily and took a step forward. The blockguard, Sodaro, growled warningly: Watch it, auntie! O'Leary shook his head. Let her talk, Sodaro. It said in the CivilService Guide to Prison Administration : Detainees will be permittedto speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings. And O'Learywas a man who lived by the book. She burst out: I never got a chance! That old witch Mathias never toldme I was supposed to mop up. She banged on the door and said, 'Slushup, sister!' And then, ten minutes later, she called the guards andtold them I refused to mop. The block guard guffawed. Wipe talk—that's what she was telling youto do. Cap'n, you know what's funny about this? This Bradley is— Shut up, Sodaro. <doc-sep>Captain O'leary put down his pencil and looked at the girl. She wasattractive and young—not beyond hope, surely. Maybe she had got offto a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in thedisciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear andlooked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting forhim to judge their cases. He said patiently: Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out yourcell. If you didn't understand what Mathias was talking about, youshould have asked her. Now I'm warning you, the next time— Hey, Cap'n, wait! Sodaro was looking alarmed. This isn't a firstoffense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing inthe mess hall. He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. Theblock guard had to break up a fight between her and another wench,and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when theother one asked her to move along. He added virtuously: The guardwarned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure. Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: Idon't care. I don't care! O'Leary stopped her. That's enough! Three days in Block O! It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. Hehad managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omittedto say sir every time she spoke to him, but he couldn't keep it upforever and he certainly couldn't overlook hysteria. And hysteria wasclearly the next step for her. All the same, he stared after her as she left. He handed the rap sheetto Sodaro and said absently: Too bad a kid like her has to be here.What's she in for? You didn't know, Cap'n? Sodaro leered. She's in for conspiracy toviolate the Categoried Class laws. Don't waste your time with her,Cap'n. She's a figger-lover! Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain markedCivil Service. But it didn't wash the taste out of his mouth, thesmell from his nose. What got into a girl to get her mixed up with that kind of dirtybusiness? He checked out of the cell blocks and walked across theyard, wondering about her. She'd had every advantage—decent CivilService parents, a good education, everything a girl could wish for. Ifanything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, andlook what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is noexception, but with the difference that his is the one species thatcreates its own environment in which to specialize. From the momentthat clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weaponsmade by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by theceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame. Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. Fromthe born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolvedto the point of smaller contact and less communication between thespecializations, until now they could understand each other on only themost basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degreeof civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregationof each specialization—social and genetic measures to make thembreed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man,or at any rate he does not advance civilization. And letting thespecializations mix would produce genetic undesirables: clerk-laboreror Professional-GI misfits, for example, being only half specialized,would be good at no specialization. And the basis of this specialization society was: The aptitude groupsare the true races of mankind. Putting it into law was only the legalenforcement of a demonstrable fact. Evening, Cap'n. A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight andtouched his cap as O'Leary passed by. Evening. <doc-sep>O'Leary noted, with the part of his mind that always noted thosethings, that the orderly had been leaning on his broom until he'dnoticed the captain coming by. Of course, there wasn't much tosweep—the spray machines and sweeperdozers had been over thecobblestones of the yard twice already that day. But it was an inmate'sjob to keep busy. And it was a guard captain's job to notice when theydidn't. There wasn't anything wrong with that job, he told himself. It was aperfectly good civil-service position—better than post-office clerk,not as good as Congressman, but a job you could be proud to hold. He was proud of it. It was right that he should be proud of it. He wascivil-service born and bred, and naturally he was proud and content todo a good, clean civil-service job. If he had happened to be born a fig—a clerk , he correctedhimself—if he had happened to be born a clerk, why, he would have beenproud of that, too. There wasn't anything wrong with being a clerk—ora mechanic or a soldier, or even a laborer, for that matter. Good laborers were the salt of the Earth! They weren't smart, maybe,but they had a—well, a sort of natural, relaxed joy of living. O'Learywas a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with atouch of envy how comfortable it must be to be a wipe—a laborer .No responsibilities. No worries. Just an easy, slow routine of work andloaf, work and loaf. Of course, he wouldn't really want that kind of life, because he wasCivil Service and not the kind to try to cross over class barriers thatweren't meant to be— Evening, Cap'n. He nodded to the mechanic inmate who was, theoretically, in charge ofmaintaining the prison's car pool, just inside the gate. Evening, Conan, he said. Conan, now—he was a big buck greaser and he would be there for thenext hour, languidly poking a piece of fluff out of the air filter onthe prison jeep. Lazy, sure. Undependable, certainly. But he kept thecars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was upin another year or so, he would go back to his life with his statusrestored, a mechanic on the outside as he had been inside, and hecertainly would never risk coming back to the Jug by trying to pass asCivil Service or anything else. He knew his place. So why didn't this girl, this Sue-Ann Bradley, know hers? II Every prison has its Greensleeves—sometimes they are called bydifferent names. Old Marquette called it the canary; Louisiana Statecalled it the red hats; elsewhere it was called the hole, thesnake pit, the Klondike. When you're in it, you don't much care whatit is called; it is a place for punishment. And punishment is what you get. Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was thedisciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets itsinhabitants wore, it was called the Greensleeves. It was a community ofits own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. Andlike any other community, it had its leading citizens ... two of them.Their names were Sauer and Flock. Sue-Ann Bradley heard them before she reached the Greensleeves. Shewas in a detachment of three unfortunates like herself, convoyed by anirritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floorbelow, when she heard the yelling. Owoo-o-o, screamed Sauer from one end of the cell block andYow-w-w! shrieked Flock at the other. The inside deck guard of Block O looked nervously at the outside deckguard. The outside guard looked impassively back—after all, he was onthe outside. The inside guard muttered: Wipe rats! They're getting on my nerves. The outside guard shrugged. Detail, halt ! The two guards turned to see what was coming in asthe three new candidates for the Greensleeves slumped to a stop at thehead of the stairs. Here they are, Sodaro told them. Take good careof 'em, will you? Especially the lady—she's going to like it here,because there's plenty of wipes and greasers and figgers to keep hercompany. He laughed coarsely and abandoned his charges to the Block Oguards. The outside guard said sourly: A woman, for God's sake. Now O'Learyknows I hate it when there's a woman in here. It gets the others allriled up. Let them in, the inside guard told him. The others are riled upalready. Sue-Ann Bradley looked carefully at the floor and paid them noattention. The outside guard pulled the switch that turned on thetanglefoot electronic fields that swamped the floor of the blockcorridor and of each individual cell. While the fields were on, youcould ignore the prisoners—they simply could not move fast enough,against the electronic drag of the field, to do any harm. But it was arule that, even in Block O, you didn't leave the tangler fields on allthe time—only when the cell doors had to be opened or a prisoner'srestraining garment removed. Sue-Ann walked bravely forward through the opened gate—and fell flaton her face. It was her first experience of a tanglefoot field. It waslike walking through molasses. The guard guffawed and lifted her up by one shoulder. Take it easy,auntie. Come on, get in your cell. He steered her in the rightdirection and pointed to a greensleeved straitjacket on the cell cot.Put that on. Being as you're a lady, we won't tie it up, but the rulessay you got to wear it and the rules—Hey. She's crying! He shook hishead, marveling. It was the first time he had ever seen a prisoner cryin the Greensleeves. However, he was wrong. Sue-Ann's shoulders were shaking, but not fromtears. Sue-Ann Bradley had got a good look at Sauer and at Flock as shepassed them by and she was fighting off an almost uncontrollable urgeto retch. <doc-sep>Sauer and Flock were what are called prison wolves. They werelaborers—wipes, for short—or, at any rate, they had been once.They had spent so much time in prisons that it was sometimes hard evenfor them to remember what they really were, outside. Sauer was a big,grinning redhead with eyes like a water moccasin. Flock was a lithefive-footer with the build of a water moccasin—and the sad, stupideyes of a calf. Sauer stopped yelling for a moment. Hey, Flock! What do you want, Sauer? called Flock from his own cell. We got a lady with us! Maybe we ought to cut out this yelling soas not to disturb the lady! He screeched with howling, maniacallaughter. Anyway, if we don't cut this out, they'll get us in trouble,Flock! Oh, you think so? shrieked Flock. Jeez, I wish you hadn't said that,Sauer. You got me scared! I'm so scared, I'm gonna have to yell! The howling started all over again. The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned offthe tangler field once more. He licked his lips. Say, you want to takea turn in here for a while? Uh-uh. The outside guard shook his head. You're yellow, the inside guard said moodily. Ah, I don't know why Idon't quit this lousy job. Hey, you! Pipe down or I'll come in and beatyour head off! Ee-ee-ee! screamed Sauer in a shrill falsetto. I'm scared! Then hegrinned at the guard, all but his water-moccasin eyes. Don't you knowyou can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head, Boss? Shut up ! yelled the inside guard. Sue-Ann Bradley's weeping now was genuine. She simply could not helpit. The crazy yowling of the hard-timers, Sauer and Flock, was gettingunder her skin. They weren't even—even human , she told herselfmiserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards thesatisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedlythat resentment and anger were natural and right. They were perfectlynormal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion againstthe vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was good thatSauer and Flock still had enough spirit to struggle against the vicioussystem— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself toweeping and she didn't even care who heard her any more. Senseless! It never occurred to Sue-Ann Bradley that it might not be senseless,because noise hides noise. But then she hadn't been a prisoner verylong. III I smell trouble, said O'Leary to the warden. Trouble? Trouble? Warden Schluckebier clutched his throat and hislittle round eyes looked terrified—as perhaps they should have. WardenGodfrey Schluckebier was the almighty Caesar of ten thousand inmates inthe Jug, but privately he was a fussy old man trying to hold onto thelast decent job he would have in his life. Trouble? What trouble? O'Leary shrugged. Different things. You know Lafon, from Block A? Thisafternoon, he was playing ball with the laundry orderlies in the yard. The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: O'Leary, whatdid you want to worry me for? There's nothing wrong with playing ballin the yard. That's what recreation periods are for. You don't see what I mean, Warden. Lafon was a professional on theoutside—an architect. Those laundry cons were laborers. Pros and wipesdon't mix; it isn't natural. And there are other things. O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden thatit didn't smell right? For instance—Well, there's Aunt Mathias in the women's block. She'sa pretty good old girl—that's why she's the block orderly. She's alifer, she's got no place to go, she gets along with the other women.But today she put a woman named Bradley on report. Why? Because shetold Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. NowMathias wouldn't— The warden raised his hand. Please, O'Leary, don't bother me aboutthat kind of stuff. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He pouredhimself a cup of steaming black coffee from a brewpot, reached in adesk drawer for something, hesitated, glanced at O'Leary, then droppeda pale blue tablet into the cup. He drank it down eagerly, ignoring thescalding heat. He leaned back, looking suddenly happier and much more assured. O'Leary, you're a guard captain, right? And I'm your warden. You haveyour job, keeping the inmates in line, and I have mine. Now your job isjust as important as my job, he said piously. Everybody's job isjust as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick toour own jobs. We don't want to try to pass . O'Leary snapped erect, abruptly angry. Pass! What the devil way wasthat for the warden to talk to him? Excuse the expression, O'Leary, the warden said anxiously. I mean,after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right? He wasa great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. You know youdon't want to worry about my end of running the prison. And I don'twant to worry about yours . You see? And he folded his hands andsmiled like a civil-service Buddha. <doc-sep>O'Leary choked back his temper. Warden, I'm telling you that there'strouble coming up. I smell the signs. Handle it, then! snapped the warden, irritated at last. But suppose it's too big to handle. Suppose— It isn't, the warden said positively. Don't borrow trouble withall your supposing, O'Leary. He sipped the remains of his coffee,made a wry face, poured a fresh cup and, with an elaborate show of notnoticing what he was doing, dropped three of the pale blue tablets intoit this time. He sat beaming into space, waiting for the jolt to take effect. Well, then, he said at last. You just remember what I've told youtonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—'Oh, curse the thing. His phone was ringing. The warden picked it up irritably. That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary;they gave you a lift, but they put you on edge. Hello, barked the warden, not even glancing at the viewscreen. Whatthe devil do you want? Don't you know I'm—What? You did what ?You're going to WHAT? He looked at the viewscreen at last with a look of pure horror.Whatever he saw on it, it did not reassure him. His eyes opened likeclamshells in a steamer. O'Leary, he said faintly, my mistake. And he hung up—more or less by accident; the handset dropped from hisfingers. The person on the other end of the phone was calling from Cell Block O. Five minutes before, he hadn't been anywhere near the phone and itdidn't look as if his chances of ever getting near it were very good.Because five minutes before, he was in his cell, with the rest of thehard-timers of the Greensleeves. His name was Flock. He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him,thought that maybe, after all, the man was really in pain. Maybe thecrazy screams were screams of agony, because certainly his face was theface of an agonized man. The outside guard bellowed: Okay, okay. Take ten! Sue-Ann froze, waiting to see what would happen. What actually didhappen was that the guard reached up and closed the switch thatactuated the tangler fields on the floors of the cells. The prisonrules were humanitarian, even for the dregs that inhabited theGreensleeves. Ten minutes out of every two hours, even the worst casehad to be allowed to take his hands out of the restraining garment. Rest period it was called—in the rule book. The inmates had a lesslovely term for it. <doc-sep>At the guard's yell, the inmates jumped to their feet. Bradley was a little slow getting off the edge of the steel-slatbed—nobody had warned her that the eddy currents in the tangler fieldshad a way of making metal smoke-hot. She gasped but didn't cry out.Score one more painful lesson in her new language course. She rubbedthe backs of her thighs gingerly—and slowly, slowly, for the eddycurrents did not permit you to move fast. It was like pushing againstrubber; the faster you tried to move, the greater the resistance. The guard peered genially into her cell. You're okay, auntie. Sheproudly ignored him as he slogged deliberately away on his rounds.He didn't have to untie her and practically stand over her whileshe attended to various personal matters, as he did with the maleprisoners. It was not much to be grateful for, but Sue-Ann Bradley wasgrateful. At least she didn't have to live quite like a fig—like anunderprivileged clerk, she told herself, conscience-stricken. Across the hall, the guard was saying irritably: What the hell'sthe matter with you? He opened the door of the cell with anasbestos-handled key held in a canvas glove. Flock was in that cell and he was doubled over. The guard looked at him doubtfully. It could be a trick, maybe.Couldn't it? But he could see Flock's face and the agony in it was realenough. And Flock was gasping, through real tears: Cramps. I—I— Ah, you wipes always got a pain in the gut. The guard lumbered aroundFlock to the draw-strings at the back of the jacket. Funny smell inhere, he told himself—not for the first time. And imagine, some peopledidn't believe that wipes had a smell of their own! But this time, herealized cloudily, it was a rather unusual smell. Something burning.Almost like meat scorching. It wasn't pleasant. He finished untying Flock and turned away; let thestinking wipe take care of his own troubles. He only had ten minutes toget all the way around Block O and the inmates complained like crazy ifhe didn't make sure they all got the most possible free time. He waspretty good at snowshoeing through the tangler field. He was a littlevain about it, even; at times he had been known to boast of his abilityto make the rounds in two minutes, every time. Every time but this. For Flock moaned behind him, oddly close. The guard turned, but not quickly enough. There wasFlock—astonishingly, he was half out of his jacket; his arms hadn'tbeen in the sleeves at all! And in one of the hands, incredibly, therewas something that glinted and smoked. All right, croaked Flock, tears trickling out of eyes nearly shutwith pain. But it wasn't the tears that held the guard; it was the shining,smoking thing, now poised at his throat. A shiv! It looked as thoughit had been made out of a bed-spring, ripped loose from its frame Godknows how, hidden inside the greensleeved jacket God knows how—filed,filed to sharpness over endless hours. No wonder Flock moaned—the eddy currents in the shiv were slowlycooking his hand; and the blister against his abdomen, where the shivhad been hidden during other rest periods, felt like raw acid. All right, whispered Flock, just walk out the door and you won't gethurt. Unless the other screw makes trouble, you won't get hurt, so tellhim not to, you hear? He was nearly fainting with the pain. But he hadn't let go. He didn't let go. And he didn't stop. IV It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes stillstreaming tears, Flock with Sauer standing right behind him, menacingthe two bound deck guards. Sauer shoved Flock out of the way. Hey, Warden! he said, and thevoice was a cheerful bray, though the serpent eyes were cold andhating. Warden, you got to get a medic in here. My boy Flock, he hurthimself real bad and he needs a doctor. He gestured playfully at theguards with the shiv. I tell you, Warden. I got this knife and I gotyour guards here. Enough said? So get a medic in here quick, you hear? And he snapped the connection. O'Leary said: Warden, I told you I smelled trouble! The warden lifted his head, glared, started feebly to speak, hesitated,and picked up the long-distance phone. He said sadly to the prisonoperator: Get me the governor—fast. Riot! The word spread out from the prison on seven-league boots. It snatched the city governor out of a friendly game of Senioritywith his manager and their wives—and just when he was holding thePorkbarrel Joker concealed in the hole. It broke up the Base Championship Scramble Finals at Hap Arnold Fieldto the south, as half the contestants had to scramble in earnest to aRed Alert that was real. It reached to police precinct houses and TV newsrooms and highwaycheckpoints, and from there it filtered into the homes and lives of thenineteen million persons that lived within a few dozen miles of the Jug. Riot. And yet fewer than half a dozen men were involved. A handful of men, and the enormous bulk of the city-state quivered inevery limb and class. In its ten million homes, in its hundreds ofthousands of public places, the city-state's people shook under theimpact of the news from the prison. For the news touched them where their fears lay. Riot! And not merelya street brawl among roistering wipes, or a bar-room fight of greasersrelaxing from a hard day at the plant. The riot was down among thecorrupt sludge that underlay the state itself. Wipes brawled with wipesand no one cared; but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. <doc-sep>Forty miles to the south, Hap Arnold Field was a blaze of light. Theairmen tumbled out of their quarters and dayrooms at the screech ofthe alert siren, and behind them their wives and children stretchedand yawned and worried. An alert! The older kids fussed and complainedand their mothers shut them up. No, there wasn't any alert scheduledfor tonight; no, they didn't know where Daddy was going; no, the kidscouldn't get up yet—it was the middle of the night. And as soon as they had the kids back in bed, most of the mothersstruggled into their own airwac uniforms and headed for the briefingarea to hear. They caught the words from a distance—not quite correctly. Riot!gasped an aircraftswoman first-class, mother of three. The wipes! I told Charlie they'd get out of hand and—Alys, we aren't safe. Youknow how they are about GI women! I'm going right home and get a cluband stand right by the door and— Club! snapped Alys, radarscope-sergeant, with two childrenquerulously awake in her nursery at home. What in God's name is theuse of a club? You can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head. You'dbetter come along to Supply with me and draw a gun—you'll need itbefore this night is over. But the airmen themselves heard the briefing loud and clear over thescramble-call speakers, and they knew it was not merely a matter oftrouble in the wipe quarters. The Jug! The governor himself had calledthem out; they were to fly interdicting missions at such-and-suchlevels on such-and-such flight circuits around the prison. The rockets took off on fountains of fire; and the jets took off with awhistling roar; and last of all, the helicopters took off ... and theywere the ones who might actually accomplish something. They took uptheir picket posts on the prison perimeter, a pilot and two bombardiersin each 'copter, stone-faced, staring grimly alert at the prison below. They were ready for the breakout. But there wasn't any breakout. The rockets went home for fuel. The jets went home for fuel. Thehelicopters hung on—still ready, still waiting. The rockets came back and roared harmlessly about, and went away again.They stayed away. The helicopter men never faltered and never relaxed.The prison below them was washed with light—from the guard posts onthe walls, from the cell blocks themselves, from the mobile lights ofthe guard squadrons surrounding the walls. North of the prison, on the long, flat, damp developments of reclaimedland, the matchbox row houses of the clerical neighborhoods showedlights in every window as the figgers stood ready to repel invasionfrom their undesired neighbors to the east, the wipes. In the crowdedtenements of the laborers' quarters, the wipes shouted from window towindow; and there were crowds in the bright streets. The whole bloody thing's going to blow up! a helicopter bombardieryelled bitterly to his pilot, above the flutter and roar of thewhirling blades. Look at the mobs in Greaserville! The first breakoutfrom the Jug's going to start a fight like you never saw and we'll beright in the middle of it! He was partly right. He would be right in the middle of it—for everyman, woman and child in the city-state would be right in the middle ofit. There was no place anywhere that would be spared. No mixing. Thatwas the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm ina family fight—and aren't all mechanics a family, aren't all laborersa clan, aren't all clerks and office workers related by closer tiesthan blood or skin? But the declassed cons of the Jug were the dregs of every class; andonce they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. Thebreakout would mean riot on a bigger scale than any prison had everknown. But he was also partly wrong. Because the breakout wasn't seeming tocome. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Who is Sue-Ann Bradley, and what are her traits?

Sue-Ann Bradley is also known as Detainee No. WFA-656R at the Estates-General Correctional Institution. She is a recent prisoner and has not been in prison for as long as many other inmates. Her parents both work in Civil Service. She has an excellent educational background and basically whatever a girl could want. However, she chooses to abandon all of that when she lets herself get tangled in dirty business that leads to her arrest. The main reason for her arrest is for conspiracy to violate the Categoried Class laws. She is also described to be a figger-lover because of her actions. Sue-Ann comes off as defiant and courageous when she first steps forward to confront Sandro and O’Leary to explain her side regarding the offense that Mathias reports her for doing. Inside Block O, she tries to walk bravely across the tanglefoot electronic fields only to fall on her face. Even though Sue-Ann is grateful to the guard for letting her attend to her affairs, she does make an effort to ignore him proudly. Despite this brave exterior that Sue-Ann exhibits, she does have moments of weakness. She begins to weep sincerely once the howling and screaming get worse. Although she initially refuses to let the guards hear her, she is eventually driven crazy by the senseless yelling and begins to weep freely.

Describe the main setting of the story. [SEP] <s> My Lady Greensleeves By FREDERIK POHL Illustrated by GAUGHAN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This guard smelled trouble and it could be counted on to come—for a nose for trouble was one of the many talents bred here! I His name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in hisnostrils. It was the smell of trouble. He hadn't found what the troublewas yet, but he would. That was his business. He was a captain ofguards in Estates-General Correctional Institution—better known toits inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scentof trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived toreach his captaincy. And her name, he saw, was Sue-Ann Bradley, Detainee No. WFA-656R. He frowned at the rap sheet, trying to figure out what got a girl likeher into a place like this. And, what was more important, why shecouldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. He demanded: Why wouldn't you mop out your cell? The girl lifted her head angrily and took a step forward. The blockguard, Sodaro, growled warningly: Watch it, auntie! O'Leary shook his head. Let her talk, Sodaro. It said in the CivilService Guide to Prison Administration : Detainees will be permittedto speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings. And O'Learywas a man who lived by the book. She burst out: I never got a chance! That old witch Mathias never toldme I was supposed to mop up. She banged on the door and said, 'Slushup, sister!' And then, ten minutes later, she called the guards andtold them I refused to mop. The block guard guffawed. Wipe talk—that's what she was telling youto do. Cap'n, you know what's funny about this? This Bradley is— Shut up, Sodaro. <doc-sep>Captain O'leary put down his pencil and looked at the girl. She wasattractive and young—not beyond hope, surely. Maybe she had got offto a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in thedisciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear andlooked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting forhim to judge their cases. He said patiently: Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out yourcell. If you didn't understand what Mathias was talking about, youshould have asked her. Now I'm warning you, the next time— Hey, Cap'n, wait! Sodaro was looking alarmed. This isn't a firstoffense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing inthe mess hall. He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. Theblock guard had to break up a fight between her and another wench,and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when theother one asked her to move along. He added virtuously: The guardwarned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure. Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: Idon't care. I don't care! O'Leary stopped her. That's enough! Three days in Block O! It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. Hehad managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omittedto say sir every time she spoke to him, but he couldn't keep it upforever and he certainly couldn't overlook hysteria. And hysteria wasclearly the next step for her. All the same, he stared after her as she left. He handed the rap sheetto Sodaro and said absently: Too bad a kid like her has to be here.What's she in for? You didn't know, Cap'n? Sodaro leered. She's in for conspiracy toviolate the Categoried Class laws. Don't waste your time with her,Cap'n. She's a figger-lover! Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain markedCivil Service. But it didn't wash the taste out of his mouth, thesmell from his nose. What got into a girl to get her mixed up with that kind of dirtybusiness? He checked out of the cell blocks and walked across theyard, wondering about her. She'd had every advantage—decent CivilService parents, a good education, everything a girl could wish for. Ifanything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, andlook what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is noexception, but with the difference that his is the one species thatcreates its own environment in which to specialize. From the momentthat clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weaponsmade by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by theceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame. Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. Fromthe born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolvedto the point of smaller contact and less communication between thespecializations, until now they could understand each other on only themost basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degreeof civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregationof each specialization—social and genetic measures to make thembreed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man,or at any rate he does not advance civilization. And letting thespecializations mix would produce genetic undesirables: clerk-laboreror Professional-GI misfits, for example, being only half specialized,would be good at no specialization. And the basis of this specialization society was: The aptitude groupsare the true races of mankind. Putting it into law was only the legalenforcement of a demonstrable fact. Evening, Cap'n. A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight andtouched his cap as O'Leary passed by. Evening. <doc-sep>O'Leary noted, with the part of his mind that always noted thosethings, that the orderly had been leaning on his broom until he'dnoticed the captain coming by. Of course, there wasn't much tosweep—the spray machines and sweeperdozers had been over thecobblestones of the yard twice already that day. But it was an inmate'sjob to keep busy. And it was a guard captain's job to notice when theydidn't. There wasn't anything wrong with that job, he told himself. It was aperfectly good civil-service position—better than post-office clerk,not as good as Congressman, but a job you could be proud to hold. He was proud of it. It was right that he should be proud of it. He wascivil-service born and bred, and naturally he was proud and content todo a good, clean civil-service job. If he had happened to be born a fig—a clerk , he correctedhimself—if he had happened to be born a clerk, why, he would have beenproud of that, too. There wasn't anything wrong with being a clerk—ora mechanic or a soldier, or even a laborer, for that matter. Good laborers were the salt of the Earth! They weren't smart, maybe,but they had a—well, a sort of natural, relaxed joy of living. O'Learywas a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with atouch of envy how comfortable it must be to be a wipe—a laborer .No responsibilities. No worries. Just an easy, slow routine of work andloaf, work and loaf. Of course, he wouldn't really want that kind of life, because he wasCivil Service and not the kind to try to cross over class barriers thatweren't meant to be— Evening, Cap'n. He nodded to the mechanic inmate who was, theoretically, in charge ofmaintaining the prison's car pool, just inside the gate. Evening, Conan, he said. Conan, now—he was a big buck greaser and he would be there for thenext hour, languidly poking a piece of fluff out of the air filter onthe prison jeep. Lazy, sure. Undependable, certainly. But he kept thecars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was upin another year or so, he would go back to his life with his statusrestored, a mechanic on the outside as he had been inside, and hecertainly would never risk coming back to the Jug by trying to pass asCivil Service or anything else. He knew his place. So why didn't this girl, this Sue-Ann Bradley, know hers? II Every prison has its Greensleeves—sometimes they are called bydifferent names. Old Marquette called it the canary; Louisiana Statecalled it the red hats; elsewhere it was called the hole, thesnake pit, the Klondike. When you're in it, you don't much care whatit is called; it is a place for punishment. And punishment is what you get. Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was thedisciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets itsinhabitants wore, it was called the Greensleeves. It was a community ofits own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. Andlike any other community, it had its leading citizens ... two of them.Their names were Sauer and Flock. Sue-Ann Bradley heard them before she reached the Greensleeves. Shewas in a detachment of three unfortunates like herself, convoyed by anirritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floorbelow, when she heard the yelling. Owoo-o-o, screamed Sauer from one end of the cell block andYow-w-w! shrieked Flock at the other. The inside deck guard of Block O looked nervously at the outside deckguard. The outside guard looked impassively back—after all, he was onthe outside. The inside guard muttered: Wipe rats! They're getting on my nerves. The outside guard shrugged. Detail, halt ! The two guards turned to see what was coming in asthe three new candidates for the Greensleeves slumped to a stop at thehead of the stairs. Here they are, Sodaro told them. Take good careof 'em, will you? Especially the lady—she's going to like it here,because there's plenty of wipes and greasers and figgers to keep hercompany. He laughed coarsely and abandoned his charges to the Block Oguards. The outside guard said sourly: A woman, for God's sake. Now O'Learyknows I hate it when there's a woman in here. It gets the others allriled up. Let them in, the inside guard told him. The others are riled upalready. Sue-Ann Bradley looked carefully at the floor and paid them noattention. The outside guard pulled the switch that turned on thetanglefoot electronic fields that swamped the floor of the blockcorridor and of each individual cell. While the fields were on, youcould ignore the prisoners—they simply could not move fast enough,against the electronic drag of the field, to do any harm. But it was arule that, even in Block O, you didn't leave the tangler fields on allthe time—only when the cell doors had to be opened or a prisoner'srestraining garment removed. Sue-Ann walked bravely forward through the opened gate—and fell flaton her face. It was her first experience of a tanglefoot field. It waslike walking through molasses. The guard guffawed and lifted her up by one shoulder. Take it easy,auntie. Come on, get in your cell. He steered her in the rightdirection and pointed to a greensleeved straitjacket on the cell cot.Put that on. Being as you're a lady, we won't tie it up, but the rulessay you got to wear it and the rules—Hey. She's crying! He shook hishead, marveling. It was the first time he had ever seen a prisoner cryin the Greensleeves. However, he was wrong. Sue-Ann's shoulders were shaking, but not fromtears. Sue-Ann Bradley had got a good look at Sauer and at Flock as shepassed them by and she was fighting off an almost uncontrollable urgeto retch. <doc-sep>Sauer and Flock were what are called prison wolves. They werelaborers—wipes, for short—or, at any rate, they had been once.They had spent so much time in prisons that it was sometimes hard evenfor them to remember what they really were, outside. Sauer was a big,grinning redhead with eyes like a water moccasin. Flock was a lithefive-footer with the build of a water moccasin—and the sad, stupideyes of a calf. Sauer stopped yelling for a moment. Hey, Flock! What do you want, Sauer? called Flock from his own cell. We got a lady with us! Maybe we ought to cut out this yelling soas not to disturb the lady! He screeched with howling, maniacallaughter. Anyway, if we don't cut this out, they'll get us in trouble,Flock! Oh, you think so? shrieked Flock. Jeez, I wish you hadn't said that,Sauer. You got me scared! I'm so scared, I'm gonna have to yell! The howling started all over again. The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned offthe tangler field once more. He licked his lips. Say, you want to takea turn in here for a while? Uh-uh. The outside guard shook his head. You're yellow, the inside guard said moodily. Ah, I don't know why Idon't quit this lousy job. Hey, you! Pipe down or I'll come in and beatyour head off! Ee-ee-ee! screamed Sauer in a shrill falsetto. I'm scared! Then hegrinned at the guard, all but his water-moccasin eyes. Don't you knowyou can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head, Boss? Shut up ! yelled the inside guard. Sue-Ann Bradley's weeping now was genuine. She simply could not helpit. The crazy yowling of the hard-timers, Sauer and Flock, was gettingunder her skin. They weren't even—even human , she told herselfmiserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards thesatisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedlythat resentment and anger were natural and right. They were perfectlynormal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion againstthe vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was good thatSauer and Flock still had enough spirit to struggle against the vicioussystem— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself toweeping and she didn't even care who heard her any more. Senseless! It never occurred to Sue-Ann Bradley that it might not be senseless,because noise hides noise. But then she hadn't been a prisoner verylong. III I smell trouble, said O'Leary to the warden. Trouble? Trouble? Warden Schluckebier clutched his throat and hislittle round eyes looked terrified—as perhaps they should have. WardenGodfrey Schluckebier was the almighty Caesar of ten thousand inmates inthe Jug, but privately he was a fussy old man trying to hold onto thelast decent job he would have in his life. Trouble? What trouble? O'Leary shrugged. Different things. You know Lafon, from Block A? Thisafternoon, he was playing ball with the laundry orderlies in the yard. The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: O'Leary, whatdid you want to worry me for? There's nothing wrong with playing ballin the yard. That's what recreation periods are for. You don't see what I mean, Warden. Lafon was a professional on theoutside—an architect. Those laundry cons were laborers. Pros and wipesdon't mix; it isn't natural. And there are other things. O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden thatit didn't smell right? For instance—Well, there's Aunt Mathias in the women's block. She'sa pretty good old girl—that's why she's the block orderly. She's alifer, she's got no place to go, she gets along with the other women.But today she put a woman named Bradley on report. Why? Because shetold Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. NowMathias wouldn't— The warden raised his hand. Please, O'Leary, don't bother me aboutthat kind of stuff. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He pouredhimself a cup of steaming black coffee from a brewpot, reached in adesk drawer for something, hesitated, glanced at O'Leary, then droppeda pale blue tablet into the cup. He drank it down eagerly, ignoring thescalding heat. He leaned back, looking suddenly happier and much more assured. O'Leary, you're a guard captain, right? And I'm your warden. You haveyour job, keeping the inmates in line, and I have mine. Now your job isjust as important as my job, he said piously. Everybody's job isjust as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick toour own jobs. We don't want to try to pass . O'Leary snapped erect, abruptly angry. Pass! What the devil way wasthat for the warden to talk to him? Excuse the expression, O'Leary, the warden said anxiously. I mean,after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right? He wasa great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. You know youdon't want to worry about my end of running the prison. And I don'twant to worry about yours . You see? And he folded his hands andsmiled like a civil-service Buddha. <doc-sep>O'Leary choked back his temper. Warden, I'm telling you that there'strouble coming up. I smell the signs. Handle it, then! snapped the warden, irritated at last. But suppose it's too big to handle. Suppose— It isn't, the warden said positively. Don't borrow trouble withall your supposing, O'Leary. He sipped the remains of his coffee,made a wry face, poured a fresh cup and, with an elaborate show of notnoticing what he was doing, dropped three of the pale blue tablets intoit this time. He sat beaming into space, waiting for the jolt to take effect. Well, then, he said at last. You just remember what I've told youtonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—'Oh, curse the thing. His phone was ringing. The warden picked it up irritably. That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary;they gave you a lift, but they put you on edge. Hello, barked the warden, not even glancing at the viewscreen. Whatthe devil do you want? Don't you know I'm—What? You did what ?You're going to WHAT? He looked at the viewscreen at last with a look of pure horror.Whatever he saw on it, it did not reassure him. His eyes opened likeclamshells in a steamer. O'Leary, he said faintly, my mistake. And he hung up—more or less by accident; the handset dropped from hisfingers. The person on the other end of the phone was calling from Cell Block O. Five minutes before, he hadn't been anywhere near the phone and itdidn't look as if his chances of ever getting near it were very good.Because five minutes before, he was in his cell, with the rest of thehard-timers of the Greensleeves. His name was Flock. He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him,thought that maybe, after all, the man was really in pain. Maybe thecrazy screams were screams of agony, because certainly his face was theface of an agonized man. The outside guard bellowed: Okay, okay. Take ten! Sue-Ann froze, waiting to see what would happen. What actually didhappen was that the guard reached up and closed the switch thatactuated the tangler fields on the floors of the cells. The prisonrules were humanitarian, even for the dregs that inhabited theGreensleeves. Ten minutes out of every two hours, even the worst casehad to be allowed to take his hands out of the restraining garment. Rest period it was called—in the rule book. The inmates had a lesslovely term for it. <doc-sep>At the guard's yell, the inmates jumped to their feet. Bradley was a little slow getting off the edge of the steel-slatbed—nobody had warned her that the eddy currents in the tangler fieldshad a way of making metal smoke-hot. She gasped but didn't cry out.Score one more painful lesson in her new language course. She rubbedthe backs of her thighs gingerly—and slowly, slowly, for the eddycurrents did not permit you to move fast. It was like pushing againstrubber; the faster you tried to move, the greater the resistance. The guard peered genially into her cell. You're okay, auntie. Sheproudly ignored him as he slogged deliberately away on his rounds.He didn't have to untie her and practically stand over her whileshe attended to various personal matters, as he did with the maleprisoners. It was not much to be grateful for, but Sue-Ann Bradley wasgrateful. At least she didn't have to live quite like a fig—like anunderprivileged clerk, she told herself, conscience-stricken. Across the hall, the guard was saying irritably: What the hell'sthe matter with you? He opened the door of the cell with anasbestos-handled key held in a canvas glove. Flock was in that cell and he was doubled over. The guard looked at him doubtfully. It could be a trick, maybe.Couldn't it? But he could see Flock's face and the agony in it was realenough. And Flock was gasping, through real tears: Cramps. I—I— Ah, you wipes always got a pain in the gut. The guard lumbered aroundFlock to the draw-strings at the back of the jacket. Funny smell inhere, he told himself—not for the first time. And imagine, some peopledidn't believe that wipes had a smell of their own! But this time, herealized cloudily, it was a rather unusual smell. Something burning.Almost like meat scorching. It wasn't pleasant. He finished untying Flock and turned away; let thestinking wipe take care of his own troubles. He only had ten minutes toget all the way around Block O and the inmates complained like crazy ifhe didn't make sure they all got the most possible free time. He waspretty good at snowshoeing through the tangler field. He was a littlevain about it, even; at times he had been known to boast of his abilityto make the rounds in two minutes, every time. Every time but this. For Flock moaned behind him, oddly close. The guard turned, but not quickly enough. There wasFlock—astonishingly, he was half out of his jacket; his arms hadn'tbeen in the sleeves at all! And in one of the hands, incredibly, therewas something that glinted and smoked. All right, croaked Flock, tears trickling out of eyes nearly shutwith pain. But it wasn't the tears that held the guard; it was the shining,smoking thing, now poised at his throat. A shiv! It looked as thoughit had been made out of a bed-spring, ripped loose from its frame Godknows how, hidden inside the greensleeved jacket God knows how—filed,filed to sharpness over endless hours. No wonder Flock moaned—the eddy currents in the shiv were slowlycooking his hand; and the blister against his abdomen, where the shivhad been hidden during other rest periods, felt like raw acid. All right, whispered Flock, just walk out the door and you won't gethurt. Unless the other screw makes trouble, you won't get hurt, so tellhim not to, you hear? He was nearly fainting with the pain. But he hadn't let go. He didn't let go. And he didn't stop. IV It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes stillstreaming tears, Flock with Sauer standing right behind him, menacingthe two bound deck guards. Sauer shoved Flock out of the way. Hey, Warden! he said, and thevoice was a cheerful bray, though the serpent eyes were cold andhating. Warden, you got to get a medic in here. My boy Flock, he hurthimself real bad and he needs a doctor. He gestured playfully at theguards with the shiv. I tell you, Warden. I got this knife and I gotyour guards here. Enough said? So get a medic in here quick, you hear? And he snapped the connection. O'Leary said: Warden, I told you I smelled trouble! The warden lifted his head, glared, started feebly to speak, hesitated,and picked up the long-distance phone. He said sadly to the prisonoperator: Get me the governor—fast. Riot! The word spread out from the prison on seven-league boots. It snatched the city governor out of a friendly game of Senioritywith his manager and their wives—and just when he was holding thePorkbarrel Joker concealed in the hole. It broke up the Base Championship Scramble Finals at Hap Arnold Fieldto the south, as half the contestants had to scramble in earnest to aRed Alert that was real. It reached to police precinct houses and TV newsrooms and highwaycheckpoints, and from there it filtered into the homes and lives of thenineteen million persons that lived within a few dozen miles of the Jug. Riot. And yet fewer than half a dozen men were involved. A handful of men, and the enormous bulk of the city-state quivered inevery limb and class. In its ten million homes, in its hundreds ofthousands of public places, the city-state's people shook under theimpact of the news from the prison. For the news touched them where their fears lay. Riot! And not merelya street brawl among roistering wipes, or a bar-room fight of greasersrelaxing from a hard day at the plant. The riot was down among thecorrupt sludge that underlay the state itself. Wipes brawled with wipesand no one cared; but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. <doc-sep>Forty miles to the south, Hap Arnold Field was a blaze of light. Theairmen tumbled out of their quarters and dayrooms at the screech ofthe alert siren, and behind them their wives and children stretchedand yawned and worried. An alert! The older kids fussed and complainedand their mothers shut them up. No, there wasn't any alert scheduledfor tonight; no, they didn't know where Daddy was going; no, the kidscouldn't get up yet—it was the middle of the night. And as soon as they had the kids back in bed, most of the mothersstruggled into their own airwac uniforms and headed for the briefingarea to hear. They caught the words from a distance—not quite correctly. Riot!gasped an aircraftswoman first-class, mother of three. The wipes! I told Charlie they'd get out of hand and—Alys, we aren't safe. Youknow how they are about GI women! I'm going right home and get a cluband stand right by the door and— Club! snapped Alys, radarscope-sergeant, with two childrenquerulously awake in her nursery at home. What in God's name is theuse of a club? You can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head. You'dbetter come along to Supply with me and draw a gun—you'll need itbefore this night is over. But the airmen themselves heard the briefing loud and clear over thescramble-call speakers, and they knew it was not merely a matter oftrouble in the wipe quarters. The Jug! The governor himself had calledthem out; they were to fly interdicting missions at such-and-suchlevels on such-and-such flight circuits around the prison. The rockets took off on fountains of fire; and the jets took off with awhistling roar; and last of all, the helicopters took off ... and theywere the ones who might actually accomplish something. They took uptheir picket posts on the prison perimeter, a pilot and two bombardiersin each 'copter, stone-faced, staring grimly alert at the prison below. They were ready for the breakout. But there wasn't any breakout. The rockets went home for fuel. The jets went home for fuel. Thehelicopters hung on—still ready, still waiting. The rockets came back and roared harmlessly about, and went away again.They stayed away. The helicopter men never faltered and never relaxed.The prison below them was washed with light—from the guard posts onthe walls, from the cell blocks themselves, from the mobile lights ofthe guard squadrons surrounding the walls. North of the prison, on the long, flat, damp developments of reclaimedland, the matchbox row houses of the clerical neighborhoods showedlights in every window as the figgers stood ready to repel invasionfrom their undesired neighbors to the east, the wipes. In the crowdedtenements of the laborers' quarters, the wipes shouted from window towindow; and there were crowds in the bright streets. The whole bloody thing's going to blow up! a helicopter bombardieryelled bitterly to his pilot, above the flutter and roar of thewhirling blades. Look at the mobs in Greaserville! The first breakoutfrom the Jug's going to start a fight like you never saw and we'll beright in the middle of it! He was partly right. He would be right in the middle of it—for everyman, woman and child in the city-state would be right in the middle ofit. There was no place anywhere that would be spared. No mixing. Thatwas the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm ina family fight—and aren't all mechanics a family, aren't all laborersa clan, aren't all clerks and office workers related by closer tiesthan blood or skin? But the declassed cons of the Jug were the dregs of every class; andonce they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. Thebreakout would mean riot on a bigger scale than any prison had everknown. But he was also partly wrong. Because the breakout wasn't seeming tocome. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] Describe the main setting of the story.

The main setting of the story is inside of a prison. The cells need to be mopped out, and there is also a mess hall. There is also a water fountain that is marked as “Civil Service” that O’Leary drinks out of. Outside, the prison also has a cobblestone yard that the spray machines and sweeperdozers constantly clean. Some prisoners, however, still clean as a means of keeping themselves busy. Apart from the courtyard, there is a car pool inside the prison gates too. The Block O portion of the prison, also known as Greensleeves, has cells with green straitjackets for the prisoners to wear and steel-slat beds. Prisoners must take steel steps up to the block and walk through a gate. The most impressive feature of Block O is the tanglefoot electronic fields that can be turned on by a switch. Prisoners are unable to move against the electronic drag of the field, which makes them essentially harmless. There is a telephone in Block O as well, that one can use to call the warden.

What is the Jug a symbol of to the civilians in the outside world? [SEP] <s> My Lady Greensleeves By FREDERIK POHL Illustrated by GAUGHAN [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] This guard smelled trouble and it could be counted on to come—for a nose for trouble was one of the many talents bred here! I His name was Liam O'Leary and there was something stinking in hisnostrils. It was the smell of trouble. He hadn't found what the troublewas yet, but he would. That was his business. He was a captain ofguards in Estates-General Correctional Institution—better known toits inmates as the Jug—and if he hadn't been able to detect the scentof trouble brewing a cell-block away, he would never have survived toreach his captaincy. And her name, he saw, was Sue-Ann Bradley, Detainee No. WFA-656R. He frowned at the rap sheet, trying to figure out what got a girl likeher into a place like this. And, what was more important, why shecouldn't adjust herself to it, now that she was in. He demanded: Why wouldn't you mop out your cell? The girl lifted her head angrily and took a step forward. The blockguard, Sodaro, growled warningly: Watch it, auntie! O'Leary shook his head. Let her talk, Sodaro. It said in the CivilService Guide to Prison Administration : Detainees will be permittedto speak in their own behalf in disciplinary proceedings. And O'Learywas a man who lived by the book. She burst out: I never got a chance! That old witch Mathias never toldme I was supposed to mop up. She banged on the door and said, 'Slushup, sister!' And then, ten minutes later, she called the guards andtold them I refused to mop. The block guard guffawed. Wipe talk—that's what she was telling youto do. Cap'n, you know what's funny about this? This Bradley is— Shut up, Sodaro. <doc-sep>Captain O'leary put down his pencil and looked at the girl. She wasattractive and young—not beyond hope, surely. Maybe she had got offto a wrong start, but the question was, would putting her in thedisciplinary block help straighten her out? He rubbed his ear andlooked past her at the line of prisoners on the rap detail, waiting forhim to judge their cases. He said patiently: Bradley, the rules are you have to mop out yourcell. If you didn't understand what Mathias was talking about, youshould have asked her. Now I'm warning you, the next time— Hey, Cap'n, wait! Sodaro was looking alarmed. This isn't a firstoffense. Look at the rap sheet. Yesterday she pulled the same thing inthe mess hall. He shook his head reprovingly at the prisoner. Theblock guard had to break up a fight between her and another wench,and she claimed the same business—said she didn't understand when theother one asked her to move along. He added virtuously: The guardwarned her then that next time she'd get the Greensleeves for sure. Inmate Bradley seemed to be on the verge of tears. She said tautly: Idon't care. I don't care! O'Leary stopped her. That's enough! Three days in Block O! It was the only thing to do—for her own sake as much as for his. Hehad managed, by strength of will, not to hear that she had omittedto say sir every time she spoke to him, but he couldn't keep it upforever and he certainly couldn't overlook hysteria. And hysteria wasclearly the next step for her. All the same, he stared after her as she left. He handed the rap sheetto Sodaro and said absently: Too bad a kid like her has to be here.What's she in for? You didn't know, Cap'n? Sodaro leered. She's in for conspiracy toviolate the Categoried Class laws. Don't waste your time with her,Cap'n. She's a figger-lover! Captain O'Leary took a long drink of water from the fountain markedCivil Service. But it didn't wash the taste out of his mouth, thesmell from his nose. What got into a girl to get her mixed up with that kind of dirtybusiness? He checked out of the cell blocks and walked across theyard, wondering about her. She'd had every advantage—decent CivilService parents, a good education, everything a girl could wish for. Ifanything, she had had a better environment than O'Leary himself, andlook what she had made of it. The direction of evolution is toward specialization and Man is noexception, but with the difference that his is the one species thatcreates its own environment in which to specialize. From the momentthat clans formed, specialization began—the hunters using the weaponsmade by the flint-chippers, the food cooked in clay pots made by theceramists, over fire made by the shaman who guarded the sacred flame. Civilization merely increased the extent of specialization. Fromthe born mechanic and the man with the gift of gab, society evolvedto the point of smaller contact and less communication between thespecializations, until now they could understand each other on only themost basic physical necessities—and not even always then. But this was desirable, for the more specialists, the higher the degreeof civilization. The ultimate should be the complete segregationof each specialization—social and genetic measures to make thembreed true, because the unspecialized man is an uncivilized man,or at any rate he does not advance civilization. And letting thespecializations mix would produce genetic undesirables: clerk-laboreror Professional-GI misfits, for example, being only half specialized,would be good at no specialization. And the basis of this specialization society was: The aptitude groupsare the true races of mankind. Putting it into law was only the legalenforcement of a demonstrable fact. Evening, Cap'n. A bleary old inmate orderly stood up straight andtouched his cap as O'Leary passed by. Evening. <doc-sep>O'Leary noted, with the part of his mind that always noted thosethings, that the orderly had been leaning on his broom until he'dnoticed the captain coming by. Of course, there wasn't much tosweep—the spray machines and sweeperdozers had been over thecobblestones of the yard twice already that day. But it was an inmate'sjob to keep busy. And it was a guard captain's job to notice when theydidn't. There wasn't anything wrong with that job, he told himself. It was aperfectly good civil-service position—better than post-office clerk,not as good as Congressman, but a job you could be proud to hold. He was proud of it. It was right that he should be proud of it. He wascivil-service born and bred, and naturally he was proud and content todo a good, clean civil-service job. If he had happened to be born a fig—a clerk , he correctedhimself—if he had happened to be born a clerk, why, he would have beenproud of that, too. There wasn't anything wrong with being a clerk—ora mechanic or a soldier, or even a laborer, for that matter. Good laborers were the salt of the Earth! They weren't smart, maybe,but they had a—well, a sort of natural, relaxed joy of living. O'Learywas a broad-minded man and many times he had thought almost with atouch of envy how comfortable it must be to be a wipe—a laborer .No responsibilities. No worries. Just an easy, slow routine of work andloaf, work and loaf. Of course, he wouldn't really want that kind of life, because he wasCivil Service and not the kind to try to cross over class barriers thatweren't meant to be— Evening, Cap'n. He nodded to the mechanic inmate who was, theoretically, in charge ofmaintaining the prison's car pool, just inside the gate. Evening, Conan, he said. Conan, now—he was a big buck greaser and he would be there for thenext hour, languidly poking a piece of fluff out of the air filter onthe prison jeep. Lazy, sure. Undependable, certainly. But he kept thecars going—and, O'Leary thought approvingly, when his sentence was upin another year or so, he would go back to his life with his statusrestored, a mechanic on the outside as he had been inside, and hecertainly would never risk coming back to the Jug by trying to pass asCivil Service or anything else. He knew his place. So why didn't this girl, this Sue-Ann Bradley, know hers? II Every prison has its Greensleeves—sometimes they are called bydifferent names. Old Marquette called it the canary; Louisiana Statecalled it the red hats; elsewhere it was called the hole, thesnake pit, the Klondike. When you're in it, you don't much care whatit is called; it is a place for punishment. And punishment is what you get. Block O in Estates-General Correctional Institution was thedisciplinary block, and because of the green straitjackets itsinhabitants wore, it was called the Greensleeves. It was a community ofits own, an enclave within the larger city-state that was the Jug. Andlike any other community, it had its leading citizens ... two of them.Their names were Sauer and Flock. Sue-Ann Bradley heard them before she reached the Greensleeves. Shewas in a detachment of three unfortunates like herself, convoyed by anirritable guard, climbing the steel steps toward Block O from the floorbelow, when she heard the yelling. Owoo-o-o, screamed Sauer from one end of the cell block andYow-w-w! shrieked Flock at the other. The inside deck guard of Block O looked nervously at the outside deckguard. The outside guard looked impassively back—after all, he was onthe outside. The inside guard muttered: Wipe rats! They're getting on my nerves. The outside guard shrugged. Detail, halt ! The two guards turned to see what was coming in asthe three new candidates for the Greensleeves slumped to a stop at thehead of the stairs. Here they are, Sodaro told them. Take good careof 'em, will you? Especially the lady—she's going to like it here,because there's plenty of wipes and greasers and figgers to keep hercompany. He laughed coarsely and abandoned his charges to the Block Oguards. The outside guard said sourly: A woman, for God's sake. Now O'Learyknows I hate it when there's a woman in here. It gets the others allriled up. Let them in, the inside guard told him. The others are riled upalready. Sue-Ann Bradley looked carefully at the floor and paid them noattention. The outside guard pulled the switch that turned on thetanglefoot electronic fields that swamped the floor of the blockcorridor and of each individual cell. While the fields were on, youcould ignore the prisoners—they simply could not move fast enough,against the electronic drag of the field, to do any harm. But it was arule that, even in Block O, you didn't leave the tangler fields on allthe time—only when the cell doors had to be opened or a prisoner'srestraining garment removed. Sue-Ann walked bravely forward through the opened gate—and fell flaton her face. It was her first experience of a tanglefoot field. It waslike walking through molasses. The guard guffawed and lifted her up by one shoulder. Take it easy,auntie. Come on, get in your cell. He steered her in the rightdirection and pointed to a greensleeved straitjacket on the cell cot.Put that on. Being as you're a lady, we won't tie it up, but the rulessay you got to wear it and the rules—Hey. She's crying! He shook hishead, marveling. It was the first time he had ever seen a prisoner cryin the Greensleeves. However, he was wrong. Sue-Ann's shoulders were shaking, but not fromtears. Sue-Ann Bradley had got a good look at Sauer and at Flock as shepassed them by and she was fighting off an almost uncontrollable urgeto retch. <doc-sep>Sauer and Flock were what are called prison wolves. They werelaborers—wipes, for short—or, at any rate, they had been once.They had spent so much time in prisons that it was sometimes hard evenfor them to remember what they really were, outside. Sauer was a big,grinning redhead with eyes like a water moccasin. Flock was a lithefive-footer with the build of a water moccasin—and the sad, stupideyes of a calf. Sauer stopped yelling for a moment. Hey, Flock! What do you want, Sauer? called Flock from his own cell. We got a lady with us! Maybe we ought to cut out this yelling soas not to disturb the lady! He screeched with howling, maniacallaughter. Anyway, if we don't cut this out, they'll get us in trouble,Flock! Oh, you think so? shrieked Flock. Jeez, I wish you hadn't said that,Sauer. You got me scared! I'm so scared, I'm gonna have to yell! The howling started all over again. The inside guard finished putting the new prisoners away and turned offthe tangler field once more. He licked his lips. Say, you want to takea turn in here for a while? Uh-uh. The outside guard shook his head. You're yellow, the inside guard said moodily. Ah, I don't know why Idon't quit this lousy job. Hey, you! Pipe down or I'll come in and beatyour head off! Ee-ee-ee! screamed Sauer in a shrill falsetto. I'm scared! Then hegrinned at the guard, all but his water-moccasin eyes. Don't you knowyou can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head, Boss? Shut up ! yelled the inside guard. Sue-Ann Bradley's weeping now was genuine. She simply could not helpit. The crazy yowling of the hard-timers, Sauer and Flock, was gettingunder her skin. They weren't even—even human , she told herselfmiserably, trying to weep silently so as not to give the guards thesatisfaction of hearing her—they were animals! Resentment and anger, she could understand. She told herself doggedlythat resentment and anger were natural and right. They were perfectlynormal expressions of the freedom-loving citizen's rebellion againstthe vile and stifling system of Categoried Classes. It was good thatSauer and Flock still had enough spirit to struggle against the vicioussystem— But did they have to scream so? The senseless yelling was driving her crazy. She abandoned herself toweeping and she didn't even care who heard her any more. Senseless! It never occurred to Sue-Ann Bradley that it might not be senseless,because noise hides noise. But then she hadn't been a prisoner verylong. III I smell trouble, said O'Leary to the warden. Trouble? Trouble? Warden Schluckebier clutched his throat and hislittle round eyes looked terrified—as perhaps they should have. WardenGodfrey Schluckebier was the almighty Caesar of ten thousand inmates inthe Jug, but privately he was a fussy old man trying to hold onto thelast decent job he would have in his life. Trouble? What trouble? O'Leary shrugged. Different things. You know Lafon, from Block A? Thisafternoon, he was playing ball with the laundry orderlies in the yard. The warden, faintly relieved, faintly annoyed, scolded: O'Leary, whatdid you want to worry me for? There's nothing wrong with playing ballin the yard. That's what recreation periods are for. You don't see what I mean, Warden. Lafon was a professional on theoutside—an architect. Those laundry cons were laborers. Pros and wipesdon't mix; it isn't natural. And there are other things. O'Leary hesitated, frowning. How could you explain to the warden thatit didn't smell right? For instance—Well, there's Aunt Mathias in the women's block. She'sa pretty good old girl—that's why she's the block orderly. She's alifer, she's got no place to go, she gets along with the other women.But today she put a woman named Bradley on report. Why? Because shetold Bradley to mop up in wipe talk and Bradley didn't understand. NowMathias wouldn't— The warden raised his hand. Please, O'Leary, don't bother me aboutthat kind of stuff. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. He pouredhimself a cup of steaming black coffee from a brewpot, reached in adesk drawer for something, hesitated, glanced at O'Leary, then droppeda pale blue tablet into the cup. He drank it down eagerly, ignoring thescalding heat. He leaned back, looking suddenly happier and much more assured. O'Leary, you're a guard captain, right? And I'm your warden. You haveyour job, keeping the inmates in line, and I have mine. Now your job isjust as important as my job, he said piously. Everybody's job isjust as important as everybody else's, right? But we have to stick toour own jobs. We don't want to try to pass . O'Leary snapped erect, abruptly angry. Pass! What the devil way wasthat for the warden to talk to him? Excuse the expression, O'Leary, the warden said anxiously. I mean,after all, 'Specialization is the goal of civilization,' right? He wasa great man for platitudes, was Warden Schluckebier. You know youdon't want to worry about my end of running the prison. And I don'twant to worry about yours . You see? And he folded his hands andsmiled like a civil-service Buddha. <doc-sep>O'Leary choked back his temper. Warden, I'm telling you that there'strouble coming up. I smell the signs. Handle it, then! snapped the warden, irritated at last. But suppose it's too big to handle. Suppose— It isn't, the warden said positively. Don't borrow trouble withall your supposing, O'Leary. He sipped the remains of his coffee,made a wry face, poured a fresh cup and, with an elaborate show of notnoticing what he was doing, dropped three of the pale blue tablets intoit this time. He sat beaming into space, waiting for the jolt to take effect. Well, then, he said at last. You just remember what I've told youtonight, O'Leary, and we'll get along fine. 'Specialization is the—'Oh, curse the thing. His phone was ringing. The warden picked it up irritably. That was the trouble with those pale blue tablets, thought O'Leary;they gave you a lift, but they put you on edge. Hello, barked the warden, not even glancing at the viewscreen. Whatthe devil do you want? Don't you know I'm—What? You did what ?You're going to WHAT? He looked at the viewscreen at last with a look of pure horror.Whatever he saw on it, it did not reassure him. His eyes opened likeclamshells in a steamer. O'Leary, he said faintly, my mistake. And he hung up—more or less by accident; the handset dropped from hisfingers. The person on the other end of the phone was calling from Cell Block O. Five minutes before, he hadn't been anywhere near the phone and itdidn't look as if his chances of ever getting near it were very good.Because five minutes before, he was in his cell, with the rest of thehard-timers of the Greensleeves. His name was Flock. He was still yelling. Sue-Ann Bradley, in the cell across from him,thought that maybe, after all, the man was really in pain. Maybe thecrazy screams were screams of agony, because certainly his face was theface of an agonized man. The outside guard bellowed: Okay, okay. Take ten! Sue-Ann froze, waiting to see what would happen. What actually didhappen was that the guard reached up and closed the switch thatactuated the tangler fields on the floors of the cells. The prisonrules were humanitarian, even for the dregs that inhabited theGreensleeves. Ten minutes out of every two hours, even the worst casehad to be allowed to take his hands out of the restraining garment. Rest period it was called—in the rule book. The inmates had a lesslovely term for it. <doc-sep>At the guard's yell, the inmates jumped to their feet. Bradley was a little slow getting off the edge of the steel-slatbed—nobody had warned her that the eddy currents in the tangler fieldshad a way of making metal smoke-hot. She gasped but didn't cry out.Score one more painful lesson in her new language course. She rubbedthe backs of her thighs gingerly—and slowly, slowly, for the eddycurrents did not permit you to move fast. It was like pushing againstrubber; the faster you tried to move, the greater the resistance. The guard peered genially into her cell. You're okay, auntie. Sheproudly ignored him as he slogged deliberately away on his rounds.He didn't have to untie her and practically stand over her whileshe attended to various personal matters, as he did with the maleprisoners. It was not much to be grateful for, but Sue-Ann Bradley wasgrateful. At least she didn't have to live quite like a fig—like anunderprivileged clerk, she told herself, conscience-stricken. Across the hall, the guard was saying irritably: What the hell'sthe matter with you? He opened the door of the cell with anasbestos-handled key held in a canvas glove. Flock was in that cell and he was doubled over. The guard looked at him doubtfully. It could be a trick, maybe.Couldn't it? But he could see Flock's face and the agony in it was realenough. And Flock was gasping, through real tears: Cramps. I—I— Ah, you wipes always got a pain in the gut. The guard lumbered aroundFlock to the draw-strings at the back of the jacket. Funny smell inhere, he told himself—not for the first time. And imagine, some peopledidn't believe that wipes had a smell of their own! But this time, herealized cloudily, it was a rather unusual smell. Something burning.Almost like meat scorching. It wasn't pleasant. He finished untying Flock and turned away; let thestinking wipe take care of his own troubles. He only had ten minutes toget all the way around Block O and the inmates complained like crazy ifhe didn't make sure they all got the most possible free time. He waspretty good at snowshoeing through the tangler field. He was a littlevain about it, even; at times he had been known to boast of his abilityto make the rounds in two minutes, every time. Every time but this. For Flock moaned behind him, oddly close. The guard turned, but not quickly enough. There wasFlock—astonishingly, he was half out of his jacket; his arms hadn'tbeen in the sleeves at all! And in one of the hands, incredibly, therewas something that glinted and smoked. All right, croaked Flock, tears trickling out of eyes nearly shutwith pain. But it wasn't the tears that held the guard; it was the shining,smoking thing, now poised at his throat. A shiv! It looked as thoughit had been made out of a bed-spring, ripped loose from its frame Godknows how, hidden inside the greensleeved jacket God knows how—filed,filed to sharpness over endless hours. No wonder Flock moaned—the eddy currents in the shiv were slowlycooking his hand; and the blister against his abdomen, where the shivhad been hidden during other rest periods, felt like raw acid. All right, whispered Flock, just walk out the door and you won't gethurt. Unless the other screw makes trouble, you won't get hurt, so tellhim not to, you hear? He was nearly fainting with the pain. But he hadn't let go. He didn't let go. And he didn't stop. IV It was Flock on the phone to the warden—Flock with his eyes stillstreaming tears, Flock with Sauer standing right behind him, menacingthe two bound deck guards. Sauer shoved Flock out of the way. Hey, Warden! he said, and thevoice was a cheerful bray, though the serpent eyes were cold andhating. Warden, you got to get a medic in here. My boy Flock, he hurthimself real bad and he needs a doctor. He gestured playfully at theguards with the shiv. I tell you, Warden. I got this knife and I gotyour guards here. Enough said? So get a medic in here quick, you hear? And he snapped the connection. O'Leary said: Warden, I told you I smelled trouble! The warden lifted his head, glared, started feebly to speak, hesitated,and picked up the long-distance phone. He said sadly to the prisonoperator: Get me the governor—fast. Riot! The word spread out from the prison on seven-league boots. It snatched the city governor out of a friendly game of Senioritywith his manager and their wives—and just when he was holding thePorkbarrel Joker concealed in the hole. It broke up the Base Championship Scramble Finals at Hap Arnold Fieldto the south, as half the contestants had to scramble in earnest to aRed Alert that was real. It reached to police precinct houses and TV newsrooms and highwaycheckpoints, and from there it filtered into the homes and lives of thenineteen million persons that lived within a few dozen miles of the Jug. Riot. And yet fewer than half a dozen men were involved. A handful of men, and the enormous bulk of the city-state quivered inevery limb and class. In its ten million homes, in its hundreds ofthousands of public places, the city-state's people shook under theimpact of the news from the prison. For the news touched them where their fears lay. Riot! And not merelya street brawl among roistering wipes, or a bar-room fight of greasersrelaxing from a hard day at the plant. The riot was down among thecorrupt sludge that underlay the state itself. Wipes brawled with wipesand no one cared; but in the Jug, all classes were cast together. <doc-sep>Forty miles to the south, Hap Arnold Field was a blaze of light. Theairmen tumbled out of their quarters and dayrooms at the screech ofthe alert siren, and behind them their wives and children stretchedand yawned and worried. An alert! The older kids fussed and complainedand their mothers shut them up. No, there wasn't any alert scheduledfor tonight; no, they didn't know where Daddy was going; no, the kidscouldn't get up yet—it was the middle of the night. And as soon as they had the kids back in bed, most of the mothersstruggled into their own airwac uniforms and headed for the briefingarea to hear. They caught the words from a distance—not quite correctly. Riot!gasped an aircraftswoman first-class, mother of three. The wipes! I told Charlie they'd get out of hand and—Alys, we aren't safe. Youknow how they are about GI women! I'm going right home and get a cluband stand right by the door and— Club! snapped Alys, radarscope-sergeant, with two childrenquerulously awake in her nursery at home. What in God's name is theuse of a club? You can't hurt a wipe by hitting him on the head. You'dbetter come along to Supply with me and draw a gun—you'll need itbefore this night is over. But the airmen themselves heard the briefing loud and clear over thescramble-call speakers, and they knew it was not merely a matter oftrouble in the wipe quarters. The Jug! The governor himself had calledthem out; they were to fly interdicting missions at such-and-suchlevels on such-and-such flight circuits around the prison. The rockets took off on fountains of fire; and the jets took off with awhistling roar; and last of all, the helicopters took off ... and theywere the ones who might actually accomplish something. They took uptheir picket posts on the prison perimeter, a pilot and two bombardiersin each 'copter, stone-faced, staring grimly alert at the prison below. They were ready for the breakout. But there wasn't any breakout. The rockets went home for fuel. The jets went home for fuel. Thehelicopters hung on—still ready, still waiting. The rockets came back and roared harmlessly about, and went away again.They stayed away. The helicopter men never faltered and never relaxed.The prison below them was washed with light—from the guard posts onthe walls, from the cell blocks themselves, from the mobile lights ofthe guard squadrons surrounding the walls. North of the prison, on the long, flat, damp developments of reclaimedland, the matchbox row houses of the clerical neighborhoods showedlights in every window as the figgers stood ready to repel invasionfrom their undesired neighbors to the east, the wipes. In the crowdedtenements of the laborers' quarters, the wipes shouted from window towindow; and there were crowds in the bright streets. The whole bloody thing's going to blow up! a helicopter bombardieryelled bitterly to his pilot, above the flutter and roar of thewhirling blades. Look at the mobs in Greaserville! The first breakoutfrom the Jug's going to start a fight like you never saw and we'll beright in the middle of it! He was partly right. He would be right in the middle of it—for everyman, woman and child in the city-state would be right in the middle ofit. There was no place anywhere that would be spared. No mixing. Thatwas the prescription that kept the city-state alive. There's no harm ina family fight—and aren't all mechanics a family, aren't all laborersa clan, aren't all clerks and office workers related by closer tiesthan blood or skin? But the declassed cons of the Jug were the dregs of every class; andonce they spread, the neat compartmentation of society was pierced. Thebreakout would mean riot on a bigger scale than any prison had everknown. But he was also partly wrong. Because the breakout wasn't seeming tocome. <doc-sep><doc-sep></s> [SEP] What is the Jug a symbol of to the civilians in the outside world?

To the outside world, the Jug is a symbol of the lack of organization and control in the specialist society. Unlike normal street brawls or bar-room fights within the individual classes, the civilians see the Jug as where all classes end up together. This fact is extremely dangerous, because it goes against the values and goals of a higher civilization that the specialization society tries so hard to maintain. While most of the bonds that people form with one another are in their specialization classes, people from the Jug do not have to uphold this same obligation. There is also fear that once these criminals break out of the Jug, the neatly organized class order will become disrupted, and a riot larger than any prison can handle will occur amongst the people in the outside world. In the story, many already begin to prepare for the riots that will inevitably happen when the criminals break out of the Jug.